It's all just shades of grey
by Gabrielle Tremblay
Summary: Nothing like a little fire to fight the cold... A series of very, very unfortunate events plunges a somewhat spiteful young woman into a world that is not hers and will never be hers, amongst beings who see her as no more than a toy, a brief flash in their existence, meant for pleasure and pain. OC/ Wild Hunt. Rated for the nasty, dark stuff I love writing.
1. Aen Seidhe

This I set somewhere just before Witcher 3, the game, but after Witcher 2. I'm reading the novels right now, having played the three games and I am slowly becoming a huge fan.

It is rated mature because I plan on having some amount of pain cause to my OC, along with potential rape, torture and adult material. So if that sort of thing bothers you, don' read it!

It's based on a half-formed idea I have. Let's see where this goes, shall we?

(0)

The tavern was dark and damp, its windows grimy from years of neglect, the earthen floors moist and black with dirt, the few candles placed on various tables unable to bring any sort of warmth or cheeriness to the place. The innkeeper was a middle-aged man with a rapidly receding hairline, teeth as black and crooked as the floor of his tavern and an eternally sour look etched onto his face, always leering at those seated in his bar with a look of disgruntled abandon. Those who frequented this place were also dark and damp, a rabble of unkempt thieves, graceless looters and heartless bandits that seemed to be itching to pick a fight with the first newcomer.

It was no fit place for a woman; that was sure.

But yet there she sat, alone and relaxed, in one of the darker corners of the filthy establishment.

One uninformed and blind might mistake her for an easy prey, but the few people present in the tavern at that moment had already heard of her: they knew she was not to be taken lightly. Besides, it took but a glance to see that this was no ordinary, travelling maiden: she drank coarse beer from a huge tankard, her boot-clad feet resting on the table in front of her. She wore dark and tight boiled leather clothes and a light chainmail shirt. On the chair next to her hung a sword belt with two small, light swords, of which only the exquisitely etched hilts were visible. Out of one of her boots peaked another hilt, this one belonging to a knife of some sort. There was a finely shaped wooden short bow resting against the wall behind her, along with a quiver full of arrows tipped with some sort of black feather. She wore her coin purse on a belt around her slender hips, for all to see, clearly daring anyone to try and claim it.

The young, dark-haired woman stared at the room with bright green eyes, unafraid, the hood of her travelling cape pulled back. Nothing about her posture let on that she thought herself in any danger and it allowed anyone and everyone to understand that they could approach her at their own risk. She was not unpleasant to look upon: her skin was rather pale and very even, except for an ugly scar that barred her right cheek all the way down her neck to her shoulder, courtesy of some fight gone awry. Her features were sharp and hard and an experienced eye might be brought to question her human heritage, especially considering the slight point to her ears, which peaked out amidst her lightly braided hair.

"Girl!" One of the patrons cried out, waving at her from across the room. "How about a game of Gwent, you and I?" His voice was slightly slurry as he rose from his seat and she noted he was wavering on his feet.

She smirked. "Why not?"

As the man stumbled slowly to her table, she removed her boots from it and sat forward, chugging down the last dregs of her dark beer and signaling the surly innkeeper for more. He obliged, picking a new, filthy glass to fill with the undrinkable alcohol.

As the man who had challenged her neared her table, she pulled out a pack of cards from a pouch at her waist and sifted through them absently, waiting for her beer and for the challenger to be seated. She paid the innkeeper for the drink with a shiny coin, which the Gwent player did not fail to see exchange hands.

She saw the greed in his sloshed eyes.

"What shall we play for?" The woman asked innocently, shuffling her deck.

The bandit looked at her with a wry smirk. "How about for your cunt?"

She snorted. "Fine by me. So long as if you lose, I get to cut off your cock and feed it to you after roasting it on a spit."

At those words she raised her eyes and crossed his gaze. He swallowed his reply when he saw just how hard and cold those green eyes of hers were…

"How…" He swallowed as he sat down in the chair facing her, suddenly sobering up. "How about we just wager coin, then?"

"See, I like that sort of wager much better." Her voice was amused, but her eyes were still like ice, an unwavering warning. "How does five Novigrad crowns sound?"

He nodded hesitantly and pulled out his own deck. He was playing Northern Realms.

She preferred Monsters. It suited her better.

(0)

The game went smoothly. She won the first round but gave him the second, always wary of a Scorch card that could throw her off her planned strategy. They were both two cards away from finishing when the door to the tavern swung open on rusty, complaining hinges, and let in some of the dim light of a fading day. She glanced up and saw a man in a long, dark robe enter, look around mildly and head slowly to the bar.

"Try this on for size!" The bandit playing her smirked widely as he set down the very hated Scorch card, forcing her to pull two high-worth siege cards from her lines, pushing her score just under his.

Her lips twisted in an ugly smile. "Not so fast…"

She set down a weather card, rendering his own siege cards useless. Since she'd lost her two best ones, she had little points left to lose on that line.

The bandit swore, banging a fist on the table and threw down his last card: the same weather one she had just used. He was four points behind her; she had won. The girl put away the final card she hadn't played: a Crone, which would have given her victory anyways.

"Pay up." She extended a hand, casually glancing at the robed man near the bar: he was talking to the innkeeper, who nodded towards her.

The bandit threw five gold coins onto the table with another sequence of most vile swears and stomped back to his table, where his mates were loudly mocking him with hoots and slurs. She ignored them all, absent-mindedly picking the coins from the sticky table as the stranger that had entered the tavern came slowly closer.

She deigned look up at him only when he had reached her.

"Good day. May I sit?" He asked quite politely, pulling back his hood. She saw he was a most handsome human man, long black hair tied back in a ponytail, bright blue eyes shining. His hands looked soft and clean: he was clearly no fighter and she could just make out richly cut clothes beneath his heavy travel cloak; mostly likely he was a mage of some sort.

She gestured to the chair in front of her, putting away her gold and cards. He sat down gracefully.

"I seem to be quite popular today. What can I do for you?" She asked.

He took a moment to examine her and she stared back at him, unflinching. His eyes stopped on the swords hanging in their scabbards on the chair next to her and he nodded.

"Quite the lovely work on those hilts… they are of elven make, are they not?"

She shrugged. "Yes. They're not for sale."

"I'm not looking to buy them… I am called Ekrayn of Poviss. Mage. What may I call you?" He stared back at her.

She supported his blue gaze for a moment, wondering what he really wanted from her.

"I'm Alyra. Of nowhere and everywhere. Traveling mercenary."

"It's not very common to see woman mercenaries… especially… unless I am mistaken… on that is half Aen Seidhe…" He squinted at her slightly, taking a moment to look at her slightly pointed ears and fair complexion.

She pursed her lips. "Just as it is uncommon to see a mage of Poviss in a dilapidated tavern in southern Velen." She snapped, not kindly. "What is it you want, Ekrayn of Poviss? Be quick about it: my patience is short and my temper, shorter."

The mage nodded politely. "Of course. The innkeeper mentioned you were a Witcher…"

She cut him off. "I'm no Witcher. See my eyes? No slits. Besides, as you so aptly noticed, I am a woman. There are no woman Witchers. But there are woman mercenaries, even half-bred ones." Her smile was not pleasant. It was bitter.

"The innkeeper said you were a monster hunter. Took contract for killing beasts. That sort of makes you a Witcher, does it not? Forgive him his ineptness." The mage shrugged.

"I take contracts for killing monsters, true. But it takes more than a few monster slays to become a Witcher." She drank deeply form her tankard. "I do forgive his lack of knowledge, though. I asked him for any contracts in the area when I first arrived and he had nothing to offer. I guess once you spoke with him, he knew to direct you to me. So what exactly it is you need me for, Ekrayn of Poviss? As a mercenary I do take on many a job, provided the pay is worth my time." She observed him cautiously over her tankard as he nodded.

"There's actually a reason I am in the middle of nowhere, Velen. There's a certain spell I need to perform…. Ermm… away from potential casualties, you see…" he sighed. "I'm gathering knowledge on certain dangerous species and need to summon one. I'm looking for someone who can kill it for me once I have summoned it and help me carry it back to Poviss."

She stared at him flatly. "Poviss is a long way off. You expect me to haul some unnamed beastling hundreds of leagues on horseback, somehow praying it won't decompose in the process? I believe you'd best hire a burly man and horse-drawn carriage than a mercenary, it seems. Ideally with swift horses."

He smiled humorlessly. "Most of the travelling can and will be done by portal. Makes for a much shorter and safer going. And I don't just need muscle, you see. I need someone who can fight and hold their own against a dangerous creature…"

"I'm no hero." She cut him off suddenly. "I'm not looking for glory, so all your talks about dangerous beasts are just raising the price tag. And I'm not overly fond of traveling by portal. So cut to the chase, mage. What creature do you want me to kill and how much do you think it is worth?"

He cleared his throat, staring at her. "I cannot tell you exactly what beast it shall be, for matters of secrecy, however…"

"Then I cannot tell you I am taking this job. Good day." She snapped, raising her tankard and looking away, feinting disinterest. Truth was, she needed the coin. She's traveled far and wide in her adventures, but of late, it was hard to find work. The war had impoverished the land, sucking the villages dry and turning friend into foe on the long roads of wilderness between the cities. People were suspicious, hungry and stingy and that made for a terribly dangerous combination. She's had to fight off bandits more often than neckers of late and it was doing nothing to help her gather spare coin.

"However," The mage continued, lowering his voice. "I am willing to pay you five hundred Novigrad crowns for the work. I shall pay any expense along the way and will even send you back by portal from Poviss to wherever you need to go, once all is said and done."

Alyra had to fight to not spit out her foul beer at the mention of the price. She'd been expecting two hundred crowns at most for the work… but five hundred? It was more than enough to keep her well-fed for a while and send some back home…

For a moment she stayed silent, carefully weighting her options.

"But I mustn't know what I'm going to face until I am facing it, correct?" When he nodded slowly, she sighed, knowing how little choice she had. "Make it five hundred fifty crowns and we have ourselves a deal."

The mage smiled widely, extending a hand to her to shake. She seized it with a firm grasp, feeling his soft, gentle hands in her rough, calloused ones and wondering if she'd made a terrible mistake…

Then again, she had years of brutish, intense training and leagues of knowledge and techniques to back her up, no matter the situations she got herself into. She'd faced terrible odds and won. Or faced terrible odds and run. What could possibly go wrong?

Famous last words, as they said…

"Pay me a third in advance. The rest upon completion." She ordered as they rose form their seats. When she saw him reaching for his pouch, she made a gesture to stop him, nodding at the bandits seated in the tavern. "Not now. Wait till we're on the road. No need to attract a hoard of hungry scavengers atop your mystery beast."

The mage nodded sagely and turned away, walking towards the exit.

Alyra sighed, grabbing her sword belt and securing it tightly around her waist, one light sword on each side, ready to be drawn. She strapped her quiver to her back, the leather band running over her chest, between her small breasts, and threw her bow over it so it held on the quiver. With a shrug, she decided to down the remains of her tankard in a long gulp, grimacing at the terribly sour taste of the liquid inside… truth to the matter, the beer tasted just like the innkeeper's face looked…

Before leaving, she flicked her hand at the candle burning at her table. Folding her fingers into the signs of Igni, she extinguished it briskly, smiling sadly.

No, she was not a Witcher. But she had a trick or two up her sleeve and more than one arrow in her quiver…

It was with a determined step that she walked out of the tavern and into the fading daylight.

(0)

I do hope you like my characters and the setting. I'm a Witcher fan (I'm Polish so I read the books in Polish) ad this is really just me expressing an idea that's been starting up in my mind… I'm not expecting many reviews, as the fanfiction aspect of the Witcher world is somehow, sadly, lacking, but any comments are appreciated.

I'm shipping mainly OC/ Eredin. Am I crazy or is he not even a choice in the choice of characters?


	2. To the tower

Well color me surprised, I got a review! It makes me very happy! Hello there Importchick, so glad to have you along for the ride!

And here we go for chapter 2. More action promised in this one!

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They saddled their horses and rode off without a glance back, as the daylight slowly waned on this recluse, tiny village in southern Velen. Truth to the matter, it was more a hovel with two shacks and a musty tavern than a village, but beggars cannot be choosers in times of war…

Her piebald gelding, Oxon, was a level-headed mix between a courser and a warhorse. She'd won him in a game of cards a couple years before, from a travelling breeder that knew his stock back to front. Oxon was an unwanted, ferocious beast, born of the accidental mating of a heavy warhorse and one of the breeder's best female coursers. The man had no actual desire to keep the animal, but when she'd seen him, she knew at once he had great potential. Not only was he fearless and bright, but he was the exact right mix between the brute strength and endurance that she needed on her long ventures in the wild. She'd broken him in herself and had raised herself a partner that actually bit at and kicked her foes instead of running off screaming.

The pair trotted off lightly along an earthen path, with Alyra following Ekrayn and his pace. His horse was a richly bred one, coat shining and leather saddle glistening freshly, whereas her accessories were worn and dull, her saddle broken in and dirty. But she noticed he seemed comfortable in his seat nonetheless, showing that he at least knew how to ride properly. He probably had more experience adventuring about the world than his appearance let on.

She kicked Oxon slightly, pushing him onward faster until she reached the mage. He was shuffling wordlessly through his pouch and when she came up to him, he extended a hand full of counted coin. The young woman took it, glancing at the shiny golden crowns and weighting them in her hand, before nodding and tucking them away into her own pouch.

He seemed honest enough. She felt no need to count every penny. Besides, his purse looked heavy and full: if he tried to cheat or rob her, she could always turn the tides against him and take what he had without much trouble. That thought made her momentarily flashback to a moment, a few months ago, when she'd assisted a merchant in defending his convoy over several leagues of bandit-ridden roads. The greedy asshole had promised her gold upon completion, but had actually been banking on her being killed by the thieves along the way, thinking that she was too weak to defend herself, while he fled to safety.

When it became clear he was trying to ditch her without pay, she had hunted him down briskly like a wolf after a deer, making off with his whole cart and even the clothes on his back, as he had no coin to pay her with. She left him alone, naked, on the side of the road to suffer whatever fate was meant for him. When Alyra thought back on the moment, she felt no shame or guilt: only fury at knowing the man had tried to cheat her because she was a woman and disappointment at not having been able to sell his goods at a better price, because she was no merchant, after all.

But he'd been hauling pickled foods, so at least she'd been able to fill her saddlebags with things she could eat on the road that would not spoil, when hunting was less proficient. All in all, she had emerged a victor from that encounter.

They slowed their pace slightly when they were out of sight of the dilapidated tavern, heading south west into the marshes.

"So where exactly are we headed? Is it far?" She questioned lightly, rummaging through her saddle bags for some dried meat to eat.

"There is an abandoned, ruined keep near the edge of the marshes, where they meet the sea. I think that's far enough that my spell should not affect anything more than water hags and drowners, should it go awry."

She scowled, finding a strip of jerky to chew on. It was tough and salty, but good. "Awry? What are the chances it'll do that?" Alyra asked suspiciously.

The mage waved a hand about carelessly. "Nearly non-existent. Nothing to worry about. I'd just rather be safe than sorry."

She made an unconvinced noise in her throat, looking onwards.

"And how far is this keep of yours?"

"A few hours' ride."

She nodded, chewing thoughtfully on her strip of beef. Ekrayn pulled out something similar from his saddle bags, chewing on the tough meat lengthily, and chased it down with wine from a leather skin, which he offered to her without a word. She took it gratefully, enjoying the warm, delightful taste of fermented grapes after the sour stench of the tavern's horrid beer.

"Wine from the duchy of Toussaint. I forget which vineyard, there are so many…" The mage smiled, nodding at her appreciation.

The name brought a new, different type of sourness to her mouth.

"I know Toussaint." She handed to skin back to him. "Used to live there."

He raised his eyebrows, taking a swing himself. "Really? I would not have guessed… not many Aen Seidhe down there…"

"I'm only half Aen Seidhe."

He looked at her carefully. "More to the matter. Not many half Aen Seidhe in Toussaint. Were you born there? Or did you simply stay there a time?"

She glanced sideways at him, weary. Alyra wasn't one to talk about her past much, being quite the lonely hunter on the road. But the surly beer and sweet wine were loosening her tongue…

"I was born in Toussaint." She said carefully, looking ahead at the growing darkness. "In a vineyard, one with a big keep and castle. Doesn't matter which one, as you said there are too many to remember… I grew up there for a few years and then… I had to leave. My home was not my home anymore. I've been a traveler ever since. Fate of the Aen Seidhe I suppose…" She reached for the skin anew and he passed it on without complaint.

"The innkeeper seemed pretty sure of your talents as a Witcher… I take it you are a good fighter? Learned that on the road, or…?"

She scoffed humorlessly. "I've been around this area of Velen a little while. Its recluse, so not many Witchers actually come by anymore. I've taken care of a few problems, so that innkeeper has a right to think I can fight. And I can, make no mistake about that… as for why I can…" She sighed. "I learned a lot as a lass. I had good teachers and my mother… she encouraged me to do what made me happy. Served us right in the end. The rest of my talents, I learned them on the road. I traded knowledge for favors, if you will…"

The mage nodded silently and respected her silence when she stopped speaking.

They rode on without a word for a few hours, while the near-full moon rose above their heads and shone a bright, sickly light on the world, throwing every shape and angle into sharp, menacing shadows that loomed all around the murky swamp. It was not long before they heard the unmistakable, chocking and sputtering sounds of creatures from the swamp.

Oxon gave a sharp, angry snort while the mage's horse whickered fearfully, stomping its hooves into the muddy ground restlessly. Alyra looked around herself, scowling, prickling her sharp ears at each and every small sound she heard. The mage spoke up but she silenced him with a raised hand, slipping from her saddle without a sound and leaving her horse standing beside the mage's, whickering very softly, as she strode into the mud, drawing both her swords.

It wasn't long before she heard a sound like someone chocking on a mouthful of water, followed by an angry screech and a bunch of screaming drowners pulled out of the murky water around her. A howling water hag came slobbering out of the mud as well, throwing muck at the young woman, which she dodged deftly.

Her swords shone in the light of the moon, the runes engraved on the blades bright with magic.

Alyra moved like a bolt of lightning, dodging the drowner that had thrown itself at her back, bringing up her blade to slash his belly open, spilling his guts. He went down howling.

His brethren lunged at her, sharps fangs bared out of their screeching maws, but she moved around them, calm as still water and focused on her task. She knew she had to take out the hag first and foremost, because she was the fastest and the most dangerous one of the lot.

The humanoid beast was howling at her, chucking a new handful of muck to blind the young woman. Alyra skipped sideways, away from the flying pile of ooze, kicking a drowner aside and slashing at its head. She drew a long, deadly gouge across its eyes, blinding it, before spinning out of the reach of another of its kind and launching herself at the hag.

The beast roared and swiped its long hands at her, trying to rip her apart with claws as sharp as razors, but the deft half-elf spun aside at the last possible moment, pushing alongside the extended arm to plunge a rune-covered blade into the hag's belly. She twisted it savagely, tearing apart the creature's insides, as she simultaneously flipped her other blade in her hand and swung it backwards, plunging it into a drowner's side as it tried to seize her from behind.

The rest was easy: she moved deftly in the squelching mud, dancing around the leaping, enraged beasts, taking them out one by one until there were none left and their last howls died out in the cool night.

When it was done, she dipped her blades in the murky waters to wash off the beast blood and pulled a cloth out of one of the small bags on her waist to dry them off, before sliding them back into their scabbards. She made her way back to her horse, which had not moved an inch during the assault, while Ekrayn was still struggling to control his own mount nearby.

Once she was seated and ready to go and he had calmed his beast, they set off once more. The mage was staring at her with a decent amount of respect and she had to admit that it felt quite good to be valued as was due.

"You might not be a Witcher, but you sure fight like one…" he eventually ventured. "Your swords… are they silver?"

She smiled softly. "Most people see me fight with two swords and assume one of them is steel and the other, silver, just like a Witcher's. But like I said, I'm no Witcher." She pulled a blade slightly out of its scabbard, just enough to let the moon reflect on the sigils engraved in it. "The hilts are of Elven make, you saw right, but the blade is not. It is not silver, or steel for that matter. It is an alloy of dimeritium and meteorite silver, engraved with sigils that bleed and maim those they touch. The resist magic and can even parry simple spells. It's a very old dwarven smelting technique, sadly lost to time. The blades were passed down through the elven side of my family. They are my gift. And my curse."

The mage nodded slowly, looking at this ferocious young woman carefully.

"Was your mother…?"

"Yes." She guessed his question. "My mother is Aen Seidhe. My father was not. But enough about that. There might be more drowners lurking and I would rather hear them coming than hold polite conversation."

He nodded anew, focusing on the road ahead and let the rest of their traveling go by without a sound.

(0)

They reached his abandoned tower as the night was darkest and the moon had set. The crumbling stone tower rose, defiant and crooked, a shadow against the shining sky, cutting like a blade amidst the stars. The grounds around the keep were spongy and wet and Alyra had a good understanding of why people had left the area: who would want to live in such a moist, smelly place anyways? Ekrayn's determination only grew as he set his jaw into a tight grimace and kicked his horse forward silently. The young woman followed him through the shallow waters, hating the relentless dread that filled her belly.

They dismounted on a patch of dry ground near the broken structure, tying their horses loosely to a half-dead tree. She took a moment to scout the area as the mage unpacked his saddle bags, filling his arms with herbs, potions, candles and chalks, all of which he started hauling up to the tower's front door. She joined him there and pushed first past him to make sure the premises were monster-free.

As she entered the tower, she assessed the situation: they were alone on the ground floor and the inside wasn't too badly damaged. It wasn't kempt, but it wouldn't fall on their heads at the first sight of a breeze. It was fairly spacious, so if he wanted to summon the creature in here, she would have ample space to fight. The wooden stairs accessing the higher floors had mostly rotted away, so there was no going up, but a nearby half-shattered wooden frame on the ground hid the entrance to a cellar. She memorized where it was as to not fall into it accidentally during the battle. The place was cold and wet and sent a shiver down the girl's spine.

Ekrayn stashed his brought supplies in a corner and set about lighting some candles for light.

The young woman decided to help him, folding her fingers into the Igni sign to get the place glowing and slightly warmer. When the mage noticed her use of the Witcher signs, he raised his eyebrows in surprise, but she shrugged.

"It's a lot easier than any of the spells you use, let me tell you that." She assured. "Doesn't take a Witcher to draw signs. It does take a toll on the body though, just as higher magic does. There are chances that I'm sterile because of that and a few other spells I've dabbled in."

"Spells, really?" He seemed genuinely interested. "Who taught you those?"

Her grin was wolfish. "A mage on the road. Traded some knowledge for a night away from loneliness. Not that I'll accept that as a form of payment from you." He blushed slightly and looked away, tending to other things. "Not that you're not attractive…only that I need the coin more than a good lay."

He was almost crimson by the end of her sentence, so she decided to stop teasing him and went outside to where Oxon was tied up to retrieve the remainder of her combat wear. She was always clothed in boiled leather clothes and boots and a light chainmail shirt when she was on the road, but to that outfit she added a pair of nimble leather gloves that protected her hands for when she knew she would be fighting. She tied her long brown hair into a ponytail using a leather strip and pulled on a tightly woven silk and linen mask that covered her lower face right beneath her eyes. It served two purposes: the tight fibre acted as a barrier against potential poisonous gases some fiends could produce and it protected her nose from the more vile scents some beasts could emanate. She had no idea if it would be of use for whatever the mage had planned, but she preferred to be prepared for anything.

Heading back inside, the young woman checked her blades to make sure they slipped out effortlessly from their scabbards, which were well-adjusted. She tightened her quiver on her back and made sure her bow was easy to reach. Then, she found a slightly darker corner and sat down cross-legged to doze off a little bit before their fight. The ride had been long and tiring… whatever he had planned for her, she surely could use a brief moment of recuperation before they got started. He kept on working on his magic stuff while her exhausted eyes drooped and eventually shut.

She did not dream.

(0)

"Alyra?"

Her bright green eyes split open and she rose at once, taking her environment in. She quickly recognized the ruined tower and the slightly nervous man standing near her and noted the complex pentagram he'd drawn on the ground in a corner, where the lines were covered with bowls containing all manners of herbs and mixtures…

"You're ready?" She asked briskly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Ekrayn nodded, his face grave. She hated that look and all the danger it encompassed, but she said nothing as he walked to his magic circle and pulled the sleeves of his robe back in order to get to work.

He glanced at her, all serious. "I'll open a portal and a beast will be pulled through. Slay it and I will close the portal. It's as simple as that. Magic will protect me within my circle, so you don't have to worry about me. Just focus on killing, alright?"

She nodded slowly, somehow not reassured, withdrawing her rune-covered blades from their scabbards and slipping into a fighting pose.

The mage entered his magic circle and took in a deep, steading breath as he raised his hands high and began chanting in the Elder Speech, evoking…

Wait a moment…

She understood his words, of course, as she herself spoke the Elder Speech, courtesy of doing half-elven…

But this was no innocent spell…

She felt icy spikes traverse her belly as she understood him utter the words for 'Wild Hunt' and 'Hound'.

And she knew at once that she had gotten herself into a lot more trouble than she could handle.

(0)

Here we go, a nice cliff hanger for you. I was going to continue, but I had work in the morning and it was getting pretty late.

Please review, I really enjoy the comments!


	3. Like a cornered beast

Thanks again importchick and Lucy for the reviews! Always nice to read!

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"You've got to be kidding me!" Alyra howled at the mage, dread twisting her insides, turning around to face him when she heard him evoke the Wild Hunt and its hound in his conjuring spell.

His face was ashen, betraying his terror, but his jaw was set tightly. "The only way we can hope to defeat the Wild Hunt is if we study them. I need that hound! I need to learn how to fight them!" He shouted back, hands still spread out and glowing with magic.

She took a few rapid steps towards him but stopped just short of the circle, knowing she would be unable to cross it.

"Stop that you bloed wedd! You'll kill us both!" She screamed at him. "The Wild Hunt has mages far more powerful than you; they'll converge on us and raze us to ashes!"

"They won't, I'm just evoking a hound, they'll…"

She cut him off. "Don't be an idiot! You think they'll just let someone haul off one of their hounds without care? If they see the portal you're trying to open they'll just push right through it and kill us. Just because they can. Stop it right now! Damn it!" She screamed helplessly at him, swearing in the Elder Speech as he ignored her.

For a split moment she was sorely tempted to just run out the door, having no desire whatsoever to face even a single hound of the Wild Hunt. Looking back, she could not say what had made her stay… some inkling of honor at the contract she had with this mage? The curiosity of seeing a Hunt hound first-handed and perhaps being able to later claim she had killed it? Or the acrimonious knowledge that she'd never be able to run far enough before the said hound hunted her down?

She had no idea. She found herself thinking of her mother, who now lived in Novigrad. Of how she had been planning to bring her a bag-full of coin to once again plead with her to leave the wretched city, where all manner of non-humans were slowly being ostracized and hated. Of how, thanks to that bright woman, she'd been able to survive in the world and how she would now possibly perish without her ever even knowing why. She realized that it was through a slow, tedious process of every event in her life that she had been inadvertently led to this very moment, to those bitter few seconds of gut-wrenching dread, clutching her magic blades, as her breath became visible in the air… as a bone-deep cold settled in the old, abandoned tower, crawling into every corner and crevice… as, with an unmistakably recognizable sound like the howling of the wind and the rumble of thunder, a spiraling portal burst open in the far corner of the room, glowing unhealthily with magical energy…

Years of experience in very dangerous conditions allowed her to react faster than she could think.

Alyra rushed towards the billowing gateway, swords tightly in hand, jaw set in grim determination. As she reached the portal, a massive beast crept out of it, visibly disoriented, teeth bared in a savage snarl. It was ash-grey and blue in hue, fatal claws adorning its monstrous paws as the thick spikes upon its back bristled with fury. It spotted her, blinked its tiny, rabid eyes and bellowed horrendously at her.

She didn't even slow down, swinging her light sword faster than the beast could move, plunging it right into that gaping maw, up into the roof of its mouth. She buried her sword into its brain right up to the hilt, elbow-deep in its slack jaw. The hound's scream died at once and it crumbled heavily onto the ground, raising a cloud of dust into the freezing air as she swiftly withdrew her blade from inside its fanged maw. Alyra turned to the mage at once.

"It's dead!" She shouted, half-relieved, barely believing how easy that had been. "Close the damned portal!"

He started at her with abject horror, mouth agape, as his hands still glowed with bright magic.

"I… I can't…"

His voice was tiny, terrified. It sent a spike of ice-cold terror through her entire being that had nothing to do with the snow that was now slowly billowing in through the cracks in the wall.

Behind her, from within the gateway, she heard a sound that was much like the clang of metal on metal and the gentle grinding of one armor plate on another… She turned rigidly back to the billowing portal, readying her blades.

The moment the soldier entered her world, she charged.

Howling a wordless battle cry, the young half-elf attacked with all the strength she could muster, taking the armored soldier by surprise. He barely had the time to raise his sword and parry one of her blows and already she was swinging her blades anew, screaming. He parried her again, clumsily, and she pushed past his defence, stabbing at his exposed side…

Her magic swords hit the thick, heavy armor, bit into the metal but ultimately slid off, unable to harm the warrior. He swung his blade at her and she was forced to dodge his slow motion, hissing in anger. He was coming at her faster now, his sword singing death through the frigid air.

But she was fast. Very fast. She dodged away from his blow, parried a second one, managed to slip behind him…

Her sharp eyes were watching, studying…looking for a weakness… there!

She thrust her sharp blade into the back of the soldier's knee, where no armor protected the joint. It went into his flesh like a hot knife into butter and he hollered furiously, stumbling forward and crashing down. She kicked him as hard as she could manage in the small of his back, sending him sprawling.

"Behind you!" The mage bellowed, sending out a fire bolt at the fallen soldier, setting him ablaze.

Alyra turned swiftly and just barely managed to stumble out of reach of a hound's clamping jaws. A split second more and it would have shattered her arm in those monstrous mandibles… She pivoted on a foot and swung her blades, slicing the beast's flank with both of them as it snarled at her. A bolt of lightning flew past her as the mage hit the hound with a spell of his own, sending it flying backwards.

"Close the fucking portal!" She screamed, her breath short, as she saw another armored soldier emerge from the swirling passage. "Stop throwing spells and close it, damn you!"

"I can't!" he hollered back. "They're holding it open on their end! I'm not… not powerful enough…"

"Bloed…" She snarled, unable to finish the insult as the armored soldier spotted her and charged at her, long sword held tightly in two hands. She could not hope to parry his blow, she knew. That blade was too big and he was too strong… it would break her arms.

Alyra knew she was faster than he was, as she wasn't wearing any heavy plate. So she waited in excruciating anxiousness until the last possible second before bending her knees and throwing herself forward into a roll, sailing past him, as his blade sung right above her, mere inches away from cutting her in half. She rolled on the ground and rose swiftly, stabbing another hound as it tried to circle around her. Behind her, she heard motion from the portal, so she glanced over her shoulder in time to see yet another soldier emerge.

"I got this one!" The mage assured, aiming at the warrior who had almost cut her in half. A few well-placed spells were enough to turn his attention away from her and back to the mage, which allowed her to deal with the new comer.

Who, of course, was assisted by another hound.

"Fuck." She snarled as the monster and its master slowly circled her, one on each side, waiting… She maintained a fighting pose, tense and waiting for their move… it seemed an eternity passed and then…

The hound launched itself at her, howling madly. She clenched her jaw, dropped one sword and folded her fingers into the Quen sign, allowing a bright flash of yellow to pass over her as she became warded by the magic. She turned her back on the bellowing hound, allowing it to reach her and shatter its fangs on the magic barrier as it exploded. She instead face the soldier, who had moved towards her as well, sword raised. For him she moved her fingers into the Aard sign and projected the spell with as much energy as she could muster. It hit the plated warrior like a wall of bricks, sending him flying, unconscious, into the far wall. He did not rise again to fight, and she was thankful, as she collapsed onto one knee on the ground, out of breath. The Aard sign had taken a chunk out of her energy and she wasn't feeling very well…

But it was no time to stop… another fighter was emerging from the portal.

Alyra grabbed her dropped sword and rose gingerly to her feet, hearing the mage behind her invoke magic to get ready to face the next wave of warriors.

She saw at once that this was no ordinary soldier. He was a deal taller than the ones that had come before him and his armor was far more intricate, giving him a very distinct look: his shoulders were covered in sharp metal spikes and the torso part of his plate armor invoked a ribcage, like some skeletal horror. His helm was rounded and he carried a massive mace and towering shield, both of which looked far too heavy for her to even consider lifting.

He looked around the room slowly, sweeping his visor-covered eyes across the unconscious or dead soldiers and hounds lying about, before coming to rest, heavy with the promise of pain, on her. Alyra swallowed nervously and noted just how tight and dry her throat felt…

"This is bad…" The mage behind her mumbled. "That's… that's not good at all…"

She stared at the towering warrior, assessing how easily he moved, oblivious to the weighted armor he wore and the massive weapons he bore. Her heart dropped even further when yet another armored being emerged from the portal, this one holding a staff upon which glowed a bright, white orb. The room seem to become even colder the moment he stepped into it…

 _Great… a mage… because our odds weren't bad enough as it is…_ She thought bitterly, trying to figure out a way to bring out an advantage for herself… some technique she could use to best these two… but nothing came to mind. She would simply have to fight like a cornered wolverine until they killed her or she managed to somehow escape…

"Ekrayn." She snapped. "We need to get out. Get to the horses. Can you cast something… anything that could help us?"

"I…" She heard the made swallow his fear behind her. "I'll try."

The towering fighter was coming towards her, slow but not lumbering. He moved deftly, betraying how much faster he was than the other soldiers she had faced… the young woman lowered her body, tensing every muscles she had, swinging her swords in an arc around her hands before grasping them firmly, ready for combat.

Behind her, the mage screamed in the Elder Speech, casting some spell towards the Wild Hunt sorcerer… it went flying, a bright bolt of sizzling light…

The sorcerer cast it aside with a flick of his hand and pointed his heavy staff right back at Ekrayn, sending a powerful wave of energy at him…

She dodged out of reach of the warrior's first mace blow and turned in time to see the bright spell hit her mage friend square in the chest… his face became a pale mask of pain and surprise as his ribcage exploded, covering the room with blood as he went flying backwards into the wall behind him with such force that he burst through the stone and flew right out of the tower.

Cold air engulfed itself through the hole he had made and she cried out wordlessly, aghast at this display of power and brutality.

The heavy warrior came at her again and she had no choice but to focus and face him, slipping aside rapidly to avoid his heavy mace… she barely managed to evade getting every bone in her body crushed by the blow that he moved towards her lightning-fast, bashing into her side with insane strength, using his heavy shield. She stumbled back with a pained cry as something in her arm crunched painfully and she dropped her left sword, her arm completely numb.

Alyra felt something beside her so she moved out of instinct, avoiding another random soldier's well calculated blow. It missed her by a hair and she raised her numb arm, somehow managing to move her fingers into the Igni sign, sending a blazing flame against the soldier's face at close range, effectively blinding him.

Meanwhile, the mace-armed fighter pursued her. She brought up her good arm to parry his blow and felt it resonate through her bones when her blade met his ferocious assault. She wondered if any of her bones had shattered… His shield came at her again, but this time she was expecting it: her fingers moved into the Quen sign and the magic just barely managed to engulf her as his shield hit her body. The ward exploded, sending him stumbling and she leapt forward with an enraged howl, pressing her attack.

Her sword moved so fast it appeared blurred and she managed to scrape his armor a few times, keeping him off balance, before finding a weak spot at the armed junction of his hand and wrist on the side where he held his shield. She was close enough to him to hear his furious breath within his black helm and as such he was unable to get the momentum necessary to hit her with his mace. She stroke like a viper into the weakness, earning herself a pained grunt from him and causing him to drop his shield.

Alyra dodged back swiftly as he tried to grasp her with his empty hand and managed to get out of his reach… right into the mage's line of fire.

Who did not hesitate, thrusting the ice shards he'd been readying for her in her direction. Without thinking, she moved her hand into the Aard sign with a scream, feeling it weaken her greatly.

The energy wave collided with the shards midair, scattering a few of them, but it was far too weak to stop them. Those that passed through kept flying at her, cutting cruelly into her skin. Miraculously, not a single one managed to embed itself in her flesh, leaving her with only minor cuts that bled softly. She stumbled but did not drop, even though her legs were shaky and she was having trouble raising her sword. The girl was breathing hard, her body a massive array of pain and fatigue, but her eyes were as ferocious as ever, ready and set to face the Hunt again.

The warrior chuckled, bending down to retrieve his heavy shield; his voice was a deep, menacing rumble that seemed distorted by his helm. She could feel his haunting gaze as he stared at her through his visor.

"Quite the fighter we have here. Not what one would expect from a bloed dh'oine. And a female at that. Come now, little bird. Lay down your sword and we may yet grant you a swift death." He mocked, slamming his mace into the ground, where it left a deep crater in the stone, a promise as to what he could and would do to her if she pushed her luck.

"Or come with us. The soldiers can always use a dh'oine slave to warm their beds. Your kind are not meant to fighter higher races, only to serve them." The mage added and both chuckled coldly.

She snorted and realized they could not see her wolfish snarl beneath the mask on her face, so she tore it off.

"What's the matter? Afraid I'll defeat you?" She snapped coldly, sounding braver than she felt. She swore in the Elder Speech and spit at their feet. "And I'm only half dh'oine, you blind cunts. Come and get me."

The warrior roared at the insult and the mage charged up another spell. Soldiers and hounds emerged from the portal behind them, escorted by yet another huge fighter.

This one donned a crowned, spiked helm like a haunted skull, leering at the battlefield. The two others turned slightly to acknowledge his arrival and paused their attacks. He glanced at the room, staring at all the fallen soldiers and general carnage of the place, his black eyes coming to rest on her, still breathing hard, lips pulled back in an ugly snarl and single sword raised to attack.

"What's taking you so damn long?" He demanded of his fighters. His voice was like metal claws scraping on ice and it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand. "Don't tell me a single dh'oine is causing this much trouble."

"Half dh'oine!" She screamed, throwing her sword at him. She had good aim: it managed to wedge itself, completely useless, between two rib-like plates that covered his chest, just about where his heart should be.

But her action had not been without calculation: the motion distracted them just long enough for her to reach behind her back, grab her short bow and a black-feathered arrow with precise and practiced, deadly speed, nocking it onto the string. She raised the bow, aimed and fired the arrow so damn fast the Hunt mage did not even have time to cast a spell. She was part Aen Seidhe, after all: the elves were supernaturally good with bows. Naturally, her first arrow was meant for the sorcerer, as she knew she had to incapacitate him. The arrow hit him in the hand that was holding his staff, the sharp point bruising him hard enough to force him to drop it. Already she was loosing another arrow, this one flying at the mace-wielding warrior. He moved as he saw it coming and it bounced off the side of his helm, useless, instead of piercing through the eyehole of his visor as it had been meant to.

The mage extended a hand towards her, roaring a spell.

Alyra moved her fingers into Quen, but the sign was so weak it just barely managed to take the deadly edge off the spell.

It hit her like a wall, knocking the air out of her lungs, but at least it did not tear her apart like it had Ekrayn. She went flying back nonetheless, knocking into the wooden door that led into the tower and bursting through it, out into the freezing cold swamp.

She tumbled down the steps that led into the tower, coming to rest in the glacial waters below. Their frigid contact acted like a slap to the face, waking her from her exhausted torpor. She had somehow managed to hold on to her bow, so she immediately grabbed for an arrow on her back, struggling to get back up. She was on her knees, twisting towards the tower entrance, drawing her bowstring back to her cheek. She let go the moment she saw an armored fighter emerge, not even noticing which one it was. The arrow went wild, barely scraping the fighter, who backed up nonetheless.

"OXON" She bellowed, stumbling up to one foot and struggling to stand. "OX!"

She heard the horse screaming somewhere nearby in blind fury and she stumbled, exhausted, towards the sound. She saw her horse kick and rear, pulling at his reigns, which were still tied loosely to a dead tree. It struggled for moment before freeing itself and rushing at her. The mage's mare was nowhere to be seen: most likely she had panicked long before and had managed to free herself, running off wildly.

Alyra had turned back to the tower entrance, aiming a new arrow. The mage burst out and fired another spell, but her flying projectile forced him to deviate it at the last second and it flew right past her, missing her by a wide margin… unless… unless it had been meant for something, someone else…

Behind her, she heard a howl of agony.

Weak, exhausted and helpless, she turned to see her horse rearing, kicking his front legs savagely and screaming, his body slashed and bleeding as the spell took its effect and destroyed him. His eyes were so wide they were white, filled with horror and pain. He fell with a last cry that tore her heart to pieces, splashing heavily into the filthy waters, before falling silent for ever.

The young woman collapsed onto her hands and knees, tears threatening to split out of her eyes. She could hear a hollow shriek from somewhere nearby and it took her for ever to realise she was the one producing it. It felt as though someone had scooped a massive hole out in her chest, tearing everything out in the process… amidst the agony there nothing more than fury and a crushing hopelessness, a hurricane of emotions that were tearing her between an avid desire to roll into a ball and die crying and another to stab everything she could get her hands on.

Meanwhile, the three massive fighters and their escort of soldiers and hounds were calmly approaching her. Their leader had drawn his long sword and was pointing it at her as he neared.

"You've caused quite a ruckus, dh'oine. A shame you have to die, you would have made for quite the entertainment in Tir Nà Lia. Bringing back dh'oine slaves is not an uncommon occurrence, but your kind are usually weak and don't last long in our hands." He chuckled coldly. She was still kneeling and all she could see was his boots. "Any last words, dh'oine?"

All she could feel was the cold embrace of the fearless fury that accompanied that moment in which one faced Death and said: No.

"I'm half-dh'oine you inept whoreson." She hissed.

Her hand slipped along her leg and firmly grasped the knife she sheathed in her boot. She rose just as swiftly, using up every little bit of strength she had and swung the sharp blade at him, managing to catch his arm and slice the armor near his wrist, causing him to drop his sword. She pushed her weight into him and they stumbled back.

But she had nothing left to give, no strength left to fight… his hand shot out and grabbed her by the ponytail, yanking it back harshly, exposing her neck as she cried out. His other hand reached for her and grabbed around her throat tightly as he regained his balance and raised her high enough that her feet no longer touched the ground. She tried to stab at him with her knife, but it just skidded off his plated armor, useless. His mailed hand was crushing her windpipe and she dropped her blade to try and claw at the cold metal that was cutting off her air, weakly trying to ease the pressure as the world started to become darker…

He removed the visor protecting his face and she stared into those blue-white eyes with a feeling of abject horror as he smiled cruelly. There was no kindness in that pale face.

"Maybe a half-dh'oine will survive us longer, then." His smile was glacier-cold. "Caranthir?"

The mage waved his hand and a spell hit her, forcing her eyes to shut at once as the world vanished around her.

She was out cold.

Or maybe she was dead.

It was hard to decide which one was a worse scenario.

(0)


	4. Choose your fate

Hello Anonymous reviewed named Davs and welcome aboard!

Again, thank you importchick and Lucy for the reviews, glad you enjoyed the fight scene as much as I enjoyed writing it!

You'll be glad to know what I have a better idea of where I am heading with all this.

(0)

She woke slowly, gradually, into a world filled with pain. The first thing she felt was a hollow throb along her left arm, which seemed to radiate with the exhausted beating of her heart. Alyra tried to swallow, feeling her mouth quite dry, but she halted her action and winced as sharp pain shot through her bruised throat. She could feel a soft mattress beneath her body and a warm blanket covering her, soft against her skin… since she could feel it so well, she understood she'd been undressed before being placed in the bed. Her body felt clean and fresh, which, considering the last time she was conscious she was elbow-deep in mud, could only mean she'd been bathed as well. However, every inch of her skin seemed to burn or throb from some cut or bruise and it took her the longest time to steady her breathing, fighting a rising panic all the way, before she decided to open her eyes.

Bright light flooded her and she shut them back at once, wincing anew as an ache like fire awoke behind her eyes and deep within her skull.

"You're awake." An emotionless, male voice said from somewhere nearby, somewhat tainted by surprise.

She swallowed slowly, willing her mouth to fill with moisture so she could speak.

"Where…" Her voice came out as tiny, broken croak and she cleared her throat gently, ignoring the pain, to try anew. "Where… am I…"

She heard a ruffle of clothes as the male near her moved slightly.

"In Tir nà Lia. At the infirmary adjacent to the battle arena." Was the answer.

She had no idea what to make of that, so she decided to try opening her eyes anew. Again, the bright light ignited vivid pain in her skull, but she clenched her teeth, breathing steadily through her nose and slowly got used to having them open.

Alyra found herself staring up at a stone ceiling. She moved her head to the left and saw more beds like hers, one text to another, all covered in fresh, white sheets and all empty. Beyond them was a huge window through which bright daylight and fresh air flowed in generously, giving a view of some street beyond. She could hear voices from outside, but could not make out what they were saying. The young woman turned her head slowly the other way, wincing at the pain in her tender neck, her eyes landing on the male who had spoken earlier as he stood near her bed, arms crossed behind his back, his pale yellow eyes staring at her sharply and curiously. His gaze was piercing and unnerving, but she supported it, analysing him.

He was clearly not human, being a deal taller than the tallest man she'd ever seen, with shoulder-length white hair that he kept smoothed back. His clothes were richly worked, made of some of the finest material she'd ever seen, covered in intricate, gold threading. His pointed ears let guess he was elven, but she knew he was no Aen Seidhe… if her assumption was correct and the Wild Hunt had carried her back to their world, then this being was one of its inhabitants, an Aen Elle; another sort of elf. One of which she'd only ever read about.

"Who… who are… you?" She asked softly through her tight throat. The elf kept that hard gaze on her, remaining silent for a moment.

Finally, he spoke up. "I am Ge'els, the viceroy of Tir nà Lia and one of the generals of his majesty, king Eredin Bréacc Glas. Whom you, little dh'oine bird, somehow managed to make very angry."

She had a million questions rushing through her head, so fast it was making her ill. But first and foremost, she felt she had to correct this Aen Elle. So she pushed herself up against the pillows slowly, grimacing as pain shot through her body and wounded arm and she stared up at him with a hard gaze.

"I'm… only half… dh'oine…" She coughed and though for a moment the motion would rip a hole in her throat, excruciating as it was. Alyra saw with some surprise that the Aen Elle smirked at her words, amused.

"That you are…" He said softly. "Whether that serves you or not will remain to be seen. Ah, here comes the healer…"

A tall, Aen Elle woman strode briskly into the room and scowled fiercely when she saw the patient sitting instead of lying. She tsked her tongue, placed her graceful hands upon her slim hips and shot a glance at Ge'els, who stepped back a bit to let her work. The elf move to a cabinet in the room her light, braided hair swinging behind her head, grabbing salves and potions and walked up to Alyra, who was staring at her with distrust.

"You'll come to no harm, dh'oine. At least not in this room" The elf assured. The girl grimaced, but it had nothing to do with pain.

"She's half dh'oine." Ge'els corrected, amused. Alyra shot him a glance that could almost have been thankful, as the healer nodded and prepared a salve from a small tin pot.

"That explains why she's still alive. Dh'oine are so fragile, one would never have survived those wounds." She reached her salve-covered hand towards the girl who tensed visibly as it approached her throat. The elf ignored her and began applying the fragrant muck on her skin, rubbing it with precise, gentle hands. Alyra found the pain in her neck receded somewhat. "You're healing fast. Unfortunately, in light of what the king has planned…"

The healer stopped speaking and glanced at Ge'els. Alyra felt dread seize her, but she was not surprised: she was alive and being cared for, but that was clearly not going to be the norm for her, as was to be expected. Truthfully, she was amazed enough that she hadn't been killed back in Velen… it could only mean she'd pissed off the wrong people and whatever they had planned for her was going to be far worse than the death she should have been given.

The way the viceroy was looking at her only confirmed her suspicions.

The healer uncorked a small bottle and poured some of the liquid inside onto a wooden spoon. It was so dark that it was almost black and seemed to flow thickly, like some sort of tar. She stared at it with unveiled disgust, but at least it smelled nice… like licorice…

"Don't fret. It's for your throat." The elf said curtly, pushing the spoon towards her. Unconvinced, the girl obliged, swallowing the heavy liquid gingerly. As soon as it passed her throat, she felt it loosen as the pain dissipated. She shot a grateful look at the elf, but was ignored as the healer prepared a glass of clear water for her, which she left on the bedside table, before gathering her things and leaving the room. Alyra was alone with Ge'els again.

She grabbed the glass of water cautiously and drank from it deeply, savoring the cool, fresh liquid. The viceroy stepped closer, still staring at her with those unnerving, pale eyes.

She sighed once her glass was finished. "So… why am I not dead?" It seemed that was the most obvious question to ask.

"King Eredin decided death would be too quick a punishment for you." Ge'els said simply, no emotion in his voice that could let on if he agreed with his monarch or not. "You apparently caused quite a few injuries to his soldiers and a bit of embarrassment to his generals, none of which gave him any desire to spare you. And, if I heard the rumors correctly, you even somehow managed to disarm him. Is that true?"

She sneered sadly. "Yes. I got lucky."

"I would not call it luck, seeing where it landed you. There are fates worse than death, you know." The viceroy said softly. "You've made him furious and fury makes him very dangerous."

"So what will he do to me? Why is he letting me heal?"

"Right now, he's debating with the two other generals you fought, Caranthir and Imlerith, on who will get to torture you first. I don't know whether they've come to an agreement, but one thing can be sure: all three see this as a game and they love to toy with their prey. You will learn the true meaning of pain before this is over, no matter which one gets to you first. Make no mistake about that." Ge'els' voice was detached, uncaring. She felt dread burrow deeper into her belly. "One thing is certain: you are half Aen Seidhe, which makes you more resilient. Therefore, they will abuse you much harder than an ordinary dh'oine, seeing as you can take it."

She cursed in the Elder Speech and he raised a surprised eyebrow at her. There was a long moment of silence as she thought on what he had said, before the girl glanced back at him, her eyes grave.

"And why are _you_ here?" She questioned. "You don't agree with them…?"

Ge'els shook his head with a slight scoff. "I neither agree nor disagree with their current game. And make no mistake, I am no friend of yours. You will be subject to whatever the king decides and I will not interfere. However," He stared at her. "The thrashing you gave his soldiers and the fact you actually managed to stand your own against his two best generals perfectly illustrates the issue I have been raising with him for decades: they think themselves unbeatable and that makes them underestimate opponents that appear weak. It can be fatal. As such, I believe this is a perfect opportunity for them to learn a valuable lesson, albeit the hard way. Because I believe you are more than capable of resisting them, at least for a short time. Am I wrong?"

She had no idea what to make of his words, of this twisted idea of his… To him, she was no more than a pawn, a small card in a game of Gwent, a tiny piece of paper at the mercy of the hands that dealt her. But did she have a choice? She was in a world that was not hers with no idea how she could go back or even _if_ she could go back… perhaps he could offer some inkling of help that would allow her to survive long enough to figure out a plan?

"I am a mercenary. I've been fighting for years, but never against armored Aen Elle. I don't see how I could…"

"I'll tell you what you need to know in order to have an advantage. If that allows you to hold your own against either of them, even for a short time, that will be enough for me. Perhaps you can even survive their game, whatever it will be?" Ge'els said. "For the time being, I still have no idea what they've decided to do to you. Perhaps they've simply settled on hanging you publicly, or giving you over to the soldiers to use as they please. I'll go speak with the king today and return to inform you of your fate. In the meantime, try and recuperate… you might not have much time left. Oh… and don't try to run. You'll only make things harder for yourself."

He turned to leave without another glance.

"Wait!" She cried out just before he reached the door, making him stop. "Do you think… could I get some herbs, from my world, I mean? I can brew a potion that would help me heal… it would make for more of a sport, wouldn't it?"

The viceroy thought on this for a moment. "Indeed… what is it you need? I can see with the mages and herbalists if they have plants from your world."

Alyra thought momentarily on this. She was no Witcher, but she'd learned the ingredients used in their decoctions over the years, either by speaking with Witchers or by rummaging through their books in the abandoned, ruined keeps of some of the older schools. Since she had not gone through the mutations, those decoctions were deadly to her, even though she was half Aen Seidhe. However, because she was half-elven, she could survive diluted versions of them.

Besides, it might not be a bad idea to prepare an actual poison for herself, should her awaited fate truly be worse than death…

"I'll need celandine, drowner brain, cortinarius, endrega embryos and alcohol to dilute it. I had some of those things in my pouches, but I don't know…"

"Your items have not been destroyed." Ge'els assured. "Very well, I shall see what I can do."

He left without another word, leaving the girl alone in the bed, feeling exhausted, lost and somewhat afraid. Figuring she might as well rest, she lay back down into the covers and fell asleep rapidly, worry gnawing at her belly.

(0)

Ge'els returned many hours later, when the sun had set on the world outside her room. He was accompanied by the healer from before and a young servant of some sort and their entrance woke her from a deep, dreamless slumber. Alyra gingerly rose against her pillows as the healer tsked at her motion and grabbed some potions from her cabinet, getting ready to administer them to the young woman.

The viceroy came to stand next to her bed while the servant following him deposited a small package wrapped in silk at the foot of her bed and took a few steps back, keeping his head down all the time. She was very surprised to notice that he was a human boy, just a year or so short of puberty…

"It is not uncommon that the Wild Hunt bring back slaves from the worlds they raid." Ge'els explained, noticing her surprise, again in an uncaring tone of voice. "Some serve at court, some are slaves for the soldiers, depending on their captor's whims. Some of them have to fight in arenas as entertainment…"

The heavy look he sent her made her understand there was an underlying message there… Alyra swallowed the potion the healer gave her without complain and felt the general ache of her body decrease gently. The elven woman also brought in a covered bowl and spoon, which set on the bedside table along with a fresh glass of water before retreating out of the room without a word.

Alyra reached for the cloth-wrapped package, holding the bed covers up to her bare chest and was delighted to uncover her leather clothes within, along with her pouches and another package that contained the ingredients she has asked for. Naturally, her weapons were not there and she was unsurprised, even if she was disappointed.

"So…" She looked up at the Aen Elle. "What is my fate going to be? A servant at court, a sex slave for violent soldiers or do I get the honor of fighting wolves and bears in some pit for the amusement of your king?"

He scoffed. "Nothing quite as pleasant, I assure you. Eredin's fury only boiled down into an unrelenting desire to break you, piece by piece. Eat." He gestured at the bowl at her bedside, so she grabbed it, revealing a warm soup of some sort within.

She began scooping it slowly with the spoon and eating it. It probably tasted wonderful, but her stomach was in knots and she found she had no appetite whatsoever. The warmth did spread through her being and she felt slightly better after a few mouthfuls. Ge'els resumed.

"Neither he nor his generals could find agreement on who was going to go through you first, knowing that there would be little to nothing left for the next one waiting in line. So they've decided to leave that choice to you."

"How kind of them to let me decide who will savage me." She sneered coldly. "And which one are you going to tell me to pick? Which one needs to learn they shouldn't underestimate me the most?"

"It's not quite so simple. You won't be choosing, truthfully. If I understood correctly, they'll fight you one by one and whoever wins will get to do as they please with you."

She stared at him. "You're joking." He did not answer, only stared. "Great… of course you're serious. You're as deranged as they are. So I'm just supposed to fight against all three of them and somehow expect to save myself in the process? There's no way I can beat all three of them…"

"I never said you'd be able to beat any of them." He answered as she brooded darkly. "But they are cocky and you've irked them. They'll let their guard down and you should be able to last… at least for some time, against them. I don't know the details of how you'll face them on the morrow; you'll learn that from them."

"On the morrow?" She said, shocked. "I haven't even healed!"

Ge'els shrugged. "They are not patient. Another irksome trait. I hope your Witcher brews can strengthen you somewhat more than they expect, that you might at least surprise them…"

Alyra seethed, finishing her soup without a word. The viceroy looked at her carefully.

"You will not meet a kind fate at their hands, be sure of that." He said softly. "However… I would strongly advise you to not let Caranthir be the one to claim you first. He's a mage and his cruelty knows no bounds. He was bred to be deadly and had a vast imagination when it comes to causing severe harm to other beings. Expect the victor to rape you… they'll mount you in their rage and it will be no kind experience. Imlerith will be the harshest with you on that count, so think of that when you fight tomorrow."

She felt like throwing up. The calculated coldness with which the viceroy was announcing her imminent torture and rape was making her ill, sending needles of dread through her being.

"And your king…?" She ventured.

He shrugged. "Hard to tell. He can be immensely cruel when he is angered and believe me, he is not pleased with you. He just might be worse than the two other combined…"

She swallowed the knot in her throat and reached gingerly for the ingredients in the package that had been brought to her, trying to hide the trembling in her hands. Ge'els watched her grab the things she needed for her decoction and begin adding them in the empty soup bowl in her lap, mechanically.

"Caranthir will rely heavily on spells. I've been told you used some sort of primitive Witcher magic during your battle… save that for him. Imlerith is hot-headed and quick to lose his temper: it makes him reckless. Taunt him and you just might be able to survive him… as for Eredin…" He paused and she looked up at him expectantly. "Well, I've not often seem him blunder in combat. Not much I can counsel you to do other than try and stay on your feet."

"No point in tarrying, then." She said sadly. "Might as well get ready for tomorrow."

He frowned curiously at her. "Take it as you will, but you do seem to have much courage, girl. I find that admirable."

With that, he left the room, the servant following him closely without even glancing at her.

Alyra ignored him as she combined the ingredients for a Swallow potion first, using the Igni sign to bring the decoction to a boil in the bowl, combining the ingredients in very small doses. It took her about an hour of work, but in the end she had herself a weakened version of the healing brew, a swing of which she took at once to have it act through the night and prepare her for the day ahead. The decoction, even diluted, was powerfully deadly and she felt it twist her insides like poison, even as it started to heal her wounds. The rest she poured into a small vial from one of her pouches, corking it and saving it for later use.

Next she prepared a weakened Thunderbolt. It would give her a strength edge against the warriors, should they be armored for their fight… which would quite honestly be very unfair.

When that was done and ready, she combined the remaining ingredients for the Thunderbolt again, but in much stronger concentration this time. There was not much left, barely enough to fill the bottom of a vial once she was done, but she knew it was potent enough to kill her, should the need for death arise.

With her brews ready, the girl lay down and tried to get some sleep. She was anxious and the Swallow potion was burning through her system, but she managed to close her eyes for a few hours during the night nonetheless. When morning rose, bright light pouring into the room anew, and an escort of soldiers came to guide her. She was seated on her bed, fully dressed in her leather clothes and chainmail shirt, ready to face the Aen Elle who were so eager to tear her to pieces.

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	5. Fear and arid worlds

Welcome amongst us, Laud. Glad you enjoy the story!

Importchic, here you go!

Lucy, thank you for the compliments on my writing, I try very hard to balance between detail and forward motion!

Bolonka welcome to the story! Things will indeed get less… pretty sometime later and I'm sorry about that. I'll try and post a warning at the start of the chapter so that those who feel less at ease with rape and torture can chose to skip through it. Glad you enjoy yourself for the time being, though.

Davs, I know you need more chapters. I'm doing what I can, buddy.

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The soldiers escorted her through the small infirmary building and through some lengthy halls. The architecture was, naturally, astounding: nearly everything was intricately carved from stone with precision and dexterity, giving rise to fabulous structures. Alyra hid her admiration well: she'd seen elven work in her own world… many cities were built on the ruins of elven ones. She knew what sort of magic they could work with stone, even if they were completely useless in matters such as agriculture, but the ruins of her world were far from doing justice to what she was seeing here. Neglect and centuries of abandon had stripped the elven remains she had seen of their former glory; that much was sure.

She was eventually guided through some heavy double doors and into a circular arena of some sort: the ground was covered in fine, pale sand and rising seats circled the area, allowing anyone sitting in them to have a good view of what was going on below. It was not unlike some arenas she had seen during tournaments in Toussaint. For the time being, those seats were empty, but the center of the arena was not: there stood three tall Aen Elle whom she did not recognize at once, but who she more than suspected of knowing.

Alyra did not recognize them because they wore no armor. But when the tallest one, with his head of hair as black as jet, turned to face her, she acknowledged it was Eredin, king of Tir nà Lia… also known to her as the glacier-eyed Aen Elle who had left a terrible bruise on her neck…

The three of them wore simple clothes: pale tunics of white linen, leather pants and leather boots. She stared at them with distrust as the heavy doors behind her shut with a loud groan and one of the soldier behind her prodded her in the back with his spear, not gently.

"The half-dh'oine!" Eredin stated coldly, his face twisted in an amused smirk. "Come closer, don't be shy." Even without his helm, his voice was like the clawing of some angry beast on a sheet of ice. She shivered.

Alyra edged towards them, stepping carefully on the moving sand. She was testing the terrain with her feet, getting used to how it moved so it wouldn't surprise her in combat. The king noticed this, as well as her leather clothes and the chain mail shirt she wore and nodded slowly.

"I see you've been somewhat informed of what is to come. Good. That'll save us time." He gestured to a nearby servant, who came running towards her, her swords lain across a silken pillow, their runes shining. She picked them up carefully, feinting a weakness in the arm Imlerith had slammed in shield into. Alyra was pleased to see all three of them noticed her deceit and fell for it… at least, in appearance…

Caranthir was leaning slightly on his staff, leering at her. She noted he was surprisingly attractive, with sharp eyes, dark hair and smooth, pale skin… but there was a haughty sneer that seemed to permanently distort his mouth that made him appear most unbearable. She remembered what Ge'els had told her about them and felt a cold shiver run down her spine. She knew she was in terrible danger, but that reality didn't seem to want to take hold as an inescapable truth in her mind… Imlerith retrieved a sword from a nearby servant and stared at her with a heart-freezing smirk. The red tattoos on his face somehow made him even more terrifying that his black mask had and she wondered if he kept his head shaved to give himself an even more fearsome appearance.

A brief vision of him trying to rape her crossed her mind and felt ill.

"We seem ready to begin." Eredin announced as he was handed his long sword, which he weighted carefully before pointing it at her. "It is quite simple: you are alive simply because killing you in that rotting carcass of a world you call home seemed too kind a fate for you. I do not know nor care how and why you ripped open a portal right into the midst of one of our raids to pull out a hound, but the resulting… battle… (He sent a cold look at his generals, emphasizing his disappointment) had frustrating repercussions. None of us can seem to agree on which is most infuriated with you, and as such, which one will get to end your life. So we've decided on…"

She cut him off. "You talk too much. Get to the point. I know I'm a pain in the ass but somehow I don't see how that justifies the lecture I'm getting…"

Eredin raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise at her comment and she swore internally at herself… her mouth was going to get her killed… it was Imlerith she was supposed to be pissing off, not the king…

"This is going to be fun…" Caranthir said softly, his tone deadly.

"So be it." The king continued. His eyes were even colder than before. "The rules are simple: who ever draws first blood wins the round. If, by some miracle, that means you, then the next contender gets a go."

"What if I beat all three of you?" She ventured.

"That won't happen." He assured and she was glad: if he was cocky enough to severely underestimate her, she just might have a chance. "Since we're not without heart, we'll let you chose who you wish to face first, girl."

She thought hard on that and on what Ge'els had told her… the three of them were extremely dangerous and a single false move would mean her life… but if she had to choose a lesser evil…

"Imlerith."

The elven warrior's grin was like that of a wolf's and she briefly wondered if she'd made a mistake.

But then he started circling her slowly as the two others stepped back and she felt her doubts vanish: all emotions evaporated as her mind and body prepared to fight for her life. She kept her left arm down, raising her right one in order to keep him thinking she was weakened.

Truth was, she'd taken a swig of Swallow potion again in the morning and her body was fully healed. Afraid of pushing her resistance to the potion toxicity, she'd hesitated in drinking the Thunderbolt. However, she knew that without it, her chances of winning were non-existent. As such, both brews were coursing through her system and she was feeling queasy, but empowered.

Imlerith swung his sword in a slow arc, staring at her avidly. She noted just much faster he was moving without his ten-ton armor to slow him down… she pivoted slightly to keep him aligned with her right arm as he circled her slowly, carefully… she remembered Ge'els' recommendation.

"What's the matter, are you scared of me?" She snapped, smirking with more courage than she felt.

The warrior sneered. "Don't be ridiculous. You're no more than a half-bred bastard dh'oine. I have nothing to fear."

"A half-bred dh'oine who held her own against you when you wore full armor." She mocked right back. "Don't see how much better you'll fare against me without it, bloed Aen Elle."

He clenched his jaw in fury and dashed towards her at once. She let him come, tensing every muscle in her body as he raised his sword and shouted a wordless battle cry filled with hollow rage.

Hollow rage that blinded him, because he failed to see just how solidly she was standing on her feet… how her supposedly wounded arm rose into defensive position… how her body tensed, ready to react… he swung his sword so fast it was blurred, but the Thunderbolt running through her veins gave her an edge and she stroke faster than an angry viper, meeting his sword with the one in her right hand and batting his attack aside. His sword was lighter than his mace had been and, as such, it did not have to same unstoppable power.

While shock filled his face and he tried to catch his balance, she moved anew, pivoting on herself and slashed at him with her left sword, right across the torso. He had managed to stumble back a bit, but the damage was done: a bright red gash appeared under his torn white shirt.

She slipped back, in defensive position. "First blood." She reminded him, nodding at his wound, weary and not trusting that he would stop.

But, with a wordless snarl and a sequence of most insulting swears, the fighter turned his back on her, spit on the ground and stomped off furiously towards the two others. She noted the leering interest with which Eredin was looking at her and found she did not like it one bit.

Caranthir came forward, swinging his staff. "A deceitful little vixen, aren't you? It makes no matter, I see through your game now…"

He studied her with ice-cold eyes and her hands clenched around her blades. She slid a foot back and swallowed quietly, barely daring to blink from fear of losing sight of him. His haughty mouth twisted into a smirk, and just like that, he vanished into thin air with a flash of greenish light.

She cursed loudly, astonished. It took every inch of her willpower to regain control and banish her surprise, because she knew it would be the death of her unless she focused anew.

By some miracle, she sensed him appear beside her before she saw him and it allowed her to pivot on a foot blindly, dodging and praying she was moving in the right direction. Were it not for years upon years of hardened combat that had built her reflexes into reactions that were faster than thought, she would have taken the full blow of his attack. His staff cut through the air, aiming for where she'd been standing and missing her by a hair, smashing instead into the sand. She regained her balance and stared at the mage with unveiled horror, realizing just how much at a disadvantage she was…

Her fear made him grin hungrily as he swung his staff around and raised a hand, preparing a spell.

Half-holding her left sword, she folded her fingers into Quen.

His spell went flying and she dodge-rolled to the side, kicking up sand as it missed her. Alyra got back up just in time to see him disappear again, that hair-raising, hungry grin twisting his features. She tensed, breathing slowly, pricking her ears as she tried to hear… see… sense… something, anything that would indicate what direction she had to move in.

Thankfully, her senses were heightened by the Thunderbolt potion, because it allowed her to hear a sort of crinkling, sort of like thunder just before it hits, coming from somewhere behind her… she turned, lightning-fast, and raised her swords to parry a blow… she crossed her blades over her head, managing to catch the mage's staff between them, but he already had a hand extended, sending a powerful spell up against her ribcage…

The Quen sign protected her, exploding violently, but igniting his spell as well… the resulting blast sent both of them flying back, tumbling into the arena sand.

Caranthir rose rapidly, dusting his clothes off as she struggled to rise with a groan, pain radiating around her midside. The Swallow potion was doing its work, burning her belly but healing her as well… she cast Quen anew, just in case, and slipped back into a battle stance, weighting her options.

He could teleport. It was a huge advantage. If she continued to let him pick when and where he attacked, he was bound to catch her off guard… so unless she could incite him into a trap, slow him down… new determination shone in her eyes as she breathed deep and waited for him to charge.

The mage obliged, vanishing with a flash of sickly, green light.

Alyra dropped one of her swords and crouched down, casting Yrden.

When Caranthir appeared next to her, his motions were immediately slowed and she dodged out of his way easily, raising her hand and folding her fingers into Aard, putting every last bit of strength she had into the simple spell. She cast it with an angry howl and the mage took the entirety of the blow to the chest, flying back violently.

She did not hesitate a single moment, pursing him relentlessly as the potions she'd taken boiled inside her, giving her energy she did not think she had… he tried to rise to meet her blow, but she was on him too fast. Caranthir vanished again, but she was enraged, her heightened senses letting her feel where he was about to appear…

On her left! She pivoted, letting his staff fall towards her… it hit her but she was still warded by Quen. The shield exploded, unbalancing the mage and she slashed her sword at him with frightening precision, catching him in the arm and drawing a long, red gash along it…

She leapt back a few steps, breathing hard and stayed on her guard in case his fury made him come after her, but he simply lowered his staff and, with a deadly look that promised her an endless eternity of pain and horror, turned to walk away.

Alyra doubled over, collapsing on her hands and knees in the sand and threw up violently. She hadn't eaten, so there was nothing but acid bile to spit out… she knew it was because of the Witcher brews. She'd pushed herself too far, had forced them to work too hard within her…

She rose on shaky legs, wiping her mouth, her green eyes landing squarely on Eredin's blue-white, glacier gaze. He was genuinely intrigued by her and seemed in no hurry to start the fight.

"You're fighting differently than in your world…" He stated softly, frowning. "You're faster… not to mention you've completely healed from your previous wounds… how is that?"

Alyra swallowed the vile, acid taste in the back of her throat and debated if she should tell him about the brews. Perhaps it would take away the only advantage she had… then again, she hadn't made them in secret and if the king wanted to find out what she'd taken, all he had to do was ask… as Ge'els had told her, he wasn't her friend: if his king asked him what she had taken, he would tell him. No use in lying.

"I took Witcher brews. One to help me heal and one strengthen myself." She told him, cautious.

"I thought the brews were deadly for those who had not gone through the mutations. You're clearly no witcher… how is you're still alive?" The king began circling her, but without raising his sword. She tensed nonetheless, ready for anything, inching backwards to the sword she had dropped to pick it back up.

"I'm more resilient because I'm half Aen Seidhe. And the potions are diluted. They're taking their toll nonetheless, so we might want to get this over with while I can still stand…"

Eredin smirked coldly. "One might considering taking witcher potions as cheating…"

Her patience ran out.

"One might consider sending three Wild Hunt warriors against a single, apparently wounded half-dh'oine, as cheating… but you don't see me moaning about it…" She snarled, instantly regretting her words as the king's eyes shone dangerously.

He vanished in the same flash of greenish light as Caranthir had… Alyra swore loudly, turning to look around herself, trying to figure out where he was…

The arena was silent.

For a few second… then a few more… then even longer…

The only sound was her ragged breathing and the thumping of her potion-filled heart. She glanced at Caranthir and Imlerith with confusion, but they were simply looking at her without betraying a single expression. Alyra started moving slowly, her feet soundless in the sand, her senses heightened and anxiety gnawing at her belly… of all the things she had expected during her fight with Eredin, him disappearing was not one of them.

She knew damn well that the moment she would drop her guard, he would descend upon her like some bird of prey… so she folded her fingers into the Quen sign just in case, listening intently for any sound, any motion that might betray where the king was going to appear…

There was still nothing. She could feel the Swallow potion fading and was thankful for it: she felt a lot less queasy and bit more alert.

There was still nothing.

Until there was a sound like the howling of wind and the distant rumble of thunder…

Alyra looked around herself in alarm, trying to figure out the source of the sound, turning again and again, staring around the arena…

She understood it was the sound of the portal…

When it opened up beneath her feet and she went down, screaming.

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When she emerged, she was falling. The light around her was incredibly bright and the air scorching hot. Alyra let out a yelp of pain mixed with surprise when her feet hit the hard ground, forcing her to throw herself forward into a roll to disperse the momentum of her fall and avoid breaking a leg. She rose as fast as she could off the cracked, dry earth and readied her blades, looking around wildly for the king, blinking to get used to the sheer brightness around her…

Alyra took in a sharp gasp of dry air as she looked around herself, the view distracting her: she'd never seen anything like it.

The sky was a bright, crystal-clear blue except for the occasional, violent sweep of wind-blow sand and dust. The sun shone down ferociously on this thirsty, cracked world, where high canyons of rock rose like broken, scratching fingers towards the heavens. There were no plants save for a few mangy, thorny bushes and it seemed to her that she would not find water here, no matter how far she walked and looked. She stood on a fairly high mesa that allowed her to look far and wide and she could see there was nothing but dead, desecrated land as far as the eye could see. This world was dead.

"This world is dying." A voice stated from behind her, as if reading her mind. She recognized the king by the icy-cold tone he used, so strange in this scorched landscape.

"Dying?" She questioned, turning to face him and raising her guard. "I would have thought it already dead…"

He was looking past her, his sword held lightly in his hand.

"One would think that, but beneath the sand and stone are the last remaining beings of this place… wyrms as large as dragons that burrow through the earth, ever hungry, unable to find sustenance. Their time will come to pass as well…" He explained softly, his gaze landing on her. She shivered, regardless of the baking sun. "But before their times comes they will seek without stop for something to devour, any small bite to pause their never-ending hunger…"

As if on cue, the ground rumbled like some famished animal and a distant roar echoed through the barren world. Alyra liked it not one bit.

"Why did you bring me here?"

Eredin stared at her for a moment.

"Because I can." He finally stated. "Because I can leave you here as well, if I wish, to be devoured by some age-old behemoth. Your life is worth little to nothing to me and as such, I warn you: anger me and your fate shall be such that you will vanish from existence without so much as a whisper of your name remaining on the wind."

She understood where he was headed with this: he did not want to lose to her; not in front of his generals, at least. It was with grim, sickening joy that she was prepared to refuse him.

"Glad we agree. Because my life is worth little to nothing to me as well." She bared her teeth. "But that does not mean I don't have enough strength left in my knees that they shall not bend to the likes of you."

The silence that followed was punctuated by an approaching, hollow roar that made the sand beneath their feet tremble. They were staring at one another with ferocious defiance, each debating… wondering who was going to fold first…

"What is it with green-eyed women and insolence…?" She heard Eredin grumble angrily.

She didn't have time to spit back a reply, because his hand shot out towards her and he yelled some spell… she felt a brutal force seize her and pull her forward, yanking her towards his outstretched hand…

Alyra clenched her jaw, prepared her swords and got ready to fight.

A portal opened behind the king just as she reached him: he grabbed her by the neck and he threw her through unceremoniously, following her calmly as, behind him, an enormous grey creature erupted from the ground, shrieking madly.

They were gone before it had the time to understand where its meal had left to.

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She went tumbling through the arena sand, crying out and managing to get a mouthful of soil as a reward.

Alyra was up and on her feet at once, spitting out sand, swords at the ready…

A good thing too, because Eredin did not waste a second.

He moved towards her so fast that, were it not for the Thunderbolt potion, she would have been cut by his blade at once. However, her senses were heightened and she managed to pivot lightly, raising a blade to parry his blow. It was vicious and powerful, sending a shockwave through the bones in her arm as he moved to the side and swung again. She met his blade anew and deflected it, before spinning on herself, attempting an attack…

He was much faster than she'd anticipated, so he managed to brush her aside without effort and push forward with an assault of his own, his blows powerful and rapid, relentless… Both were endured fighters, but he had only just begun… if she allowed him to keep pushing her back like, this, she was bound to tire before him…

However, he was cocky; too sure of himself. No matter that she had defeated his two generals earlier without much trouble: he thought himself above her.

And she saw this. She'd seen it before countless times, every time she fought a male. None of them seemed to be able to get it through their skulls that a woman, who's been versed for decades in the art of fighting and basic magic, could and would be their equal in combat. It was a mistake those men in her past had paid for with their lives…

Alyra feigned weakness, exhaustion. With a calculated move, she let her foot slip up as she dodged his blows. She let him almost land a blood-drawing hit on her… but only almost… before rising anew and parrying him restlessly. His eyes were as frigid and angry as it was possible to be, but for once they did not frighten her.

Their combat continued. The Thunderbolt gave her the endurance she needed to tire only as fast as he did and she held tight, knowing she had to wait for him to lose patience. They were matched and she needed him to try something different if her plan was going to work… hopefully, that would happen before she herself was without strength…

Eredin did not disappoint: as he saw she was parrying every blow he sent her way, her decided to take her off guard and vanished between two sword- hits in a flash of green.

Alyra did not hesitate, having been waiting for this very moment…

Before he had a chance to appear, she screamed out a spell. An actual one, not a witcher sign. She felt her energy drop rapidly, but she focused and finished casting the magic. Around her, the air shimmered angrily and suddenly exploded, just like a mirror shattering into a thousand shards. As a result, her image was distorted and multiplied countless times, appearing all over the area where she was standing in and making it seem like there was a nearly infinite amount of her…

Eredin reappeared, swinging his blade, but halted his movement at once, staggering. The shock on his face was more than worth the fire the spell had ignited under her skin, as the magic, to which she was not used like a real sorcerer, devoured her being slightly. The thousand images moved as one and the king raised his sword in guard, but it was no use:

She emerged from between two faceted versions of herself, right behind him, and drew her sword between his shoulders lightly, almost lazily.

The images shattered into a dust of shimmering illusion and they were left standing, alone, in the centre of the arena as red blood slowly tainted the king's white shirt.

"First blood." She reminded him softly, braced for anything.

Alyra was sure he'd kill her, then and there. She was expecting it.

Instead, he turned slightly and the deadly, murderous smirk he sent her before walking away made her feel a hundred thousand times more terrified.

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	6. The half-dh'oine from Toussaint

Importchick, it indeed was!

Lucy, thank you so much for your comment and encouragement, it's so nice to hear! I doubt my writing more often than not and comments like yours help keep me inspired.

Davs, glad you liked it!

Laud, I was looking for a story in this style as well, but failed to find anything after visiting numerous sites… so I decided to write it! That's the joy and beauty of being a (somewhat) author. You can create those things you miss in the world around you.

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A young human girl dressed in court clothes approached her to retrieve her weapons. Alyra handed them over without a word, trying to catch the child's eye, curious, but she received no acknowledgment. She looked over at the king and his three generals, but they had turned away and were leaving the area through another set of huge double doors on the other end. There was a distinct feeling of unease gnawing at her insides and she truly wondered if she'd done the right thing in fighting the warriors with all she had…

Alyra shook her head. Of course she'd done the right thing! Even if it led her to death in the end, she was not about to roll over and show her belly: she would go down snapping and snarling, fighting for every breath she drew. Such was the way her mother had raised her to be.

Soldiers escorted her out of the arena, but not back to the infirmary. She was led out of the arena and right into the city, which was bristling with activity.

The Aen Elle there looked at her very curiously, taking in her dirty leathers and whispering at the sight of the unsightly scar that marred her face from cheek to shoulder. She felt out of place amidst these well-dressed elves of intimidating height, but she did not let it show, walking with her head held high. She was being led gods know where, the escort of fighters silent and brooding in their black armor.

"Halt." A voice ordered from behind them, sharp as the crack of a whip through the crowd. The soldiers immobilized at once and stood at attention as she stopped as well, turning around curiously to see who had called the order.

She saw Ge'els making his way towards them slowly, hands behind his back, as the elves let him pass with light bows of their heads and gentle greeting. She saw many females blush and gush at the sight of him and realised with amusement that the Aen Elle viceroy was more of a ladies' man than she had thought. He was looking at her with an expression that was hard to read.

"Walk with me." He said as he neared her. It was voiced too gently to be an order, so she obliged. One of the soldiers turned his head, visibly unsure.

"My lord…" He hesitated. "His majesty ordered the dh'oine to be escorted…"

"To the cells, I know." Ge'els turned to look at the warrior. "But I'm ordering her to accompany me. You may dispose; she'll be no trouble. Isn't that right, little bird?"

She glanced at him, amused. "Of course."

"And she's half dh'oine." Ge'els added as an afterthought as the soldiers retreated with a bow. "No dh'oine would have been able to awake such fury in our king."

She frowned, following him as he walked off.

"He's that irritated?" She asked after a moment, almost timidly.

Ge'els glanced at her. "I know of a few slaves that will bleed tonight in payment for the anger you've caused him."

That comment made her ill. She did not enjoy knowing that others would suffer because of her actions… she liked living in a world where what she did only had consequences on her… of course, that was rarely what happened. Alyra walked silently beside the viceroy for a while as they marched out of the busier part of the city and up towards are more mountainous area. She wondered where they were going but honestly did not care to ask. At this point, it mattered little.

"I'll be honest, I did not think I would see you again after last night." Ge'els said after a while. "I thought you'd hold your own against one, maybe two of them… but all three? I'll admit I am impressed with you, little bird."

"Seems you underestimated me as well." She smirked crookedly.

He nodded, glancing at her sideways. "A costly mistake. Incidentally, considering I thought you'd die, I never bothered to ask your name. May I?"

"Alyra."

"Pleased to meet you, Alyra. I've read a few books about the Aen Seidhe in my time… your elven parent did not choose a more traditional name for you?"

"She did… my mother named me Alyrethielle Eatebleidd. It's a mouthful though, so I shortened it."

"The song of the summer wolf…" The viceroy nodded slowly as they walked up the steps to a towering stone palace. She gaped slightly at the sight of the intricate, massive structure of several levels, which seemed to have been carved out of the mountain on which it stood… they reached the front door, where two guards stood at attention. Ge'els did not even glance at them as they pushed the doors open for them and the pair walked through… the inside was even more astounding, with its floors of heavy rock and towering stone columns that rose to support the upper levels. There were bright braziers lit every few yards, throwing a warm, flickering light across the area and she saw moss and vines growing over the walls, betraying the aeons for which the structure had stood. A mighty staircase extended in front of them, leading upwards and she could glance rooms on either side of the entrance hall, going on seemingly for ever.

"Welcome to my home, the Palace of Awakening." The viceroy gestured around them. "You'll be dining with me tonight. Our good king Eredin will have a fit when he finds out, but he's never been one for strategic decisions."

"Feeding me is a strategic decision?" She questioned, slightly confused.

Ge'els smirked. "Getting to know your enemy is. Follow the servant, he'll lead you to a guest room, where you can bathe and change into appropriate clothing. I take it you are hungry?"

"Starving." She nodded, her stomach growling emptily. She'd fought all morning without even having breakfast and the witcher brews had cleansed her of any remaining energy she might have.

With that, the viceroy left her and for once, she did as she was bid and followed the young servant boy obediently, trying not to think too hard on what she had landed herself into and how it would possibly end.

(0)

She washed her tiered, sweaty self in a big wooden tub filled with steaming water. It felt wonderful to cleanse herself after the horrors of the day… the young woman stared around herself as she soaked in the warm bath, feeling her aching muscles relax slowly: the room was in one of the palace's towers, so it was circular. There was a large wooden bed, a commode, a few bookcases filled with thick volumes and a desk with a chair, where one might sit and study. The fireplace was alight with a roaring fire that filled the area with warmth and light… she found herself staring into it absently.

As she soaked, a servant came to take away her dirty leathers, which she'd unceremoniously left thrown on the ground.

"You'll bring those back, won't you?" Alyra asked, frowning. She liked her clothes, after all, and couldn't bear to think of being stuck wearing some dress or fancy outfit provided by her host for as long as she was here…

"They'll be washed and brought back, m'am. But his lordship has provided a dress for your evening…" The servant started.

"Out of the question." She snapped, more roughly than she'd intended… but no one had squeezed her into a dress since her mother has last tried, decades ago, and it wasn't about to start. "Get me some men's clothes if you have to, but no dresses… please. I'd rather go naked than in a dress."

The servant nodded briskly, never even looking at her as she left the room.

Alyra finished washing herself, feeling a terrible wave of exhaustion roll over her as the last of the Thunderbolt potion left her system. It was like a fire had died out inside her and the cumulative effort of combat and magic pressed down on her like a mountain. Speaking of her witcher brews, she'd removed those from their concealed poach on her clothes and had hid them by the bed. One of the three vials contained the concentrated Thunderbolt, which she planned to use to poison herself in the event that she was found herself in a situation from which she could not hope to save herself… she was not about to let the vial be anywhere else than on her person. She did not trust Ge'els any more than she did Eredin.

The same servant brought her lightly-woven, pale man's clothes adorned with silver threading and some sort of shiny emeralds around the high collar. The young woman slipped into them, noting that they were probably made for a small Aen Elle, because they fit her tightly nonetheless and exposed her woman's curves somewhat. They were constraining and uncomfortable and she found herself missing her leathers…

The potion vials went under the high collar, concealed against her throat. She let her long, dark hair fall, still wet, over her shoulders in wavy locks and glanced around the room, wishing for a mirror… she would have liked to see if she had any marks left from her battles of the past few days, but unfortunately, there was no looking glass in the room. So she stepped out of the room, coming face to face with another servant, who gestured for her to follow him.

She did, hounding his steps silently, looking occasionally around at the paintings on the walls and the various, closed doors that led into rooms she could not see. Some paintings were gorgeous, fairly representing landscapes or people, but others were painted in strange, sharp shapes and seemed almost like sarcastic attempts at art.

Alyra was led all the way outside into the vast gardens, from where she could admire the huge city of Tir nà Lia as it glowed from the light of the braziers used to illuminate the streets, underneath the slowly setting sun. It looked so much like her own world that for a moment she wondered how it could possible seem so alien, so unfamiliar… it was almost as if she was looking down on a city not unlike Novigrad, only… more elven. She'd been to Dol Blathanna once… perhaps it looked more like that…

She was led to a fairly large table, which had been set for two. Ge'els was already seated, reading some large tome bound in dark leather, but he rose at her approach and set it aside, his yellowish eyes studying her intently. He gestured to the seat opposite him and she slipped into it while servants came and went, bringing in platters of food and carafes of wine.

"I see you've refused to wear a dress." He stated. It was hard to tell if he was amused or insulted.

"Don't like dresses. Never have." She shrugged, looking at the fare on the table, wondering if any of it might be poisoned… she did not trust Ge'els any further than she could throw him and, considering his size, that was not very far. Still, if he meant to kill her, he'd gone through an awful lot of trouble to do so… and death might not be such a bad escape from this world, as she well knew. So she picked up the crystal glass in which a servant had poured wine and raised it to her host. "Can't say I like the men's clothes any better. Dress clothes are always so tight and itchy."

Ge'els raised his own glass in return and smirked. "I'll agree with you on that count. At least the emeralds bring out the striking color of your eyes. So…" He drank deeply and started to fill his plate with the various dishes. She did the same, picking a little bit of everything he took, just in case… "Just who are you? How is it you've come to be such a skilled fighter? I understand it is not a common occurrence in your world for females to take up the blade?"

"It's not as uncommon as that. There are plenty women bandits, it's just there aren't many stories to glorify them. Army generals refuse women more often than not, save to have them as washers or bed warmers, so no songs are written about them on that front… The rebel elves of the Scoia'tael have many female fighters, but they die in nameless raids just like the males and no one ever hears about them… The Isles of Skellige have had their share of female warriors, though. There, one isn't judged only by their gender, but by the actions that make them into a legend. But even in the Isles, there are those who would keep women in their homes, where they think we belong…"

"And are you from the Isles of Skellige?" Ge'els questioned curiously.

She looked at him with slight suspicion. "Why does it matter?"

He shrugged. "Call it curiosity. I'd like to hear your tale. I trust it is a fascinating one and I am one for interesting stories…"

She chewed absently at a strip of the only meat at the table, enjoying the gentle spices and staring at the viceroy. She knew elves were not ones to eat animals, their teeth being devoid of the sharp edges needed to tear the fibre, but she was only half-elf: she enjoyed meat almost as much as humans did. Whether the viceroy had suspected that and brought in the plate for her, she would never know… she appreciated the gesture, if that was what he had done. Yet somehow, Alyra felt uneasy, as if something was closing in on her: she felt as much in danger as she had in the arena that morning, so she decided to favor caution, weighting her words.

"No, I'm not from Skellige, but I have been there." She stated. "I'm from the Duchy of Toussaint, perhaps you've heard…"

"I've seen it on maps."

She nodded. "I was born there, some forty years ago. As I said, my mother… she gave me my Aen Seidhe lineage." She paused, drinking from her glass slowly.

Ge'els nodded to urge her on. "I'm not one to skimp on details. Feel free to tell me your tale, please."

Alyra sighed. "Alright, then. I was born as a child to a duke in Toussaint, one which owned a renown vineyard with vast lands and wealth. However, I was not born as his legitimate daughter. He'd become infatuated with my mother, meeting her in the forest during a hunt some time before and had invited her to remain at his side, in his keep, where she eventually bore me into the world… much to the displeasure of his wife. It was not uncommon for men, especially ones of power, to have mistresses that warmed their beds when their wives had no such desire… only my father did not keep his lover a secret, as others did, instead allowing my mother to remain as a welcome guest in his home. His true wife dared not question him openly, but it was clear she despised having both of us living freely on their grounds… she had unfortunately only ever given my father a sickly daughter as a child… no son as heir to his domain, so he truthfully discarded her more often than not. Their marriage, as many others, was arranged to seal some alliance and strike some deal… there was no love in their affair. That did not stop her from hating my mother and later, me… understandably, of course."

She took another long swing of the fine wine, enjoying the taste. It was more delicate than anything she'd ever had before and, as she had said, she'd been born in a vineyard.

"I was born on the summer day when the sun is longest and hottest in the sky. My mother always told me that, as she birthed me, alone and in silence in the wilderness as the Aen Seidhe believe is right, the only sound she heard was that of a howling wolf… she named me for it… the song of the summer wolf…." There was almost sadness in her voice and she blinked her tears away, unable to say just why they had appeared. "My father could not have cared less about my birth and his lady wife even less so: I was a girl, no threat to the succession of his true daughter and of no use to him. However, that changed as I grew. My mother encouraged me to do as I enjoyed, and I enjoyed battle. The Aen Seidhe attach less importance to the 'roles' enforced on boys and girls and allow their young to be raised equally, favoring whatever they most appreciate. So, from my father's guards I learned to hold a blade and shoot an arrow… I learned to fight and ride a horse. Where little human girls played with dolls and wore dresses, I collected bruises and commanded the hunting hounds. As he saw me grow and learn, he became… interested in me. Perhaps I was the son he'd never had. I…"

Ge'els raised a hand. "Forgive the interruption, but I am curious. How do hybrid elves age? Your lifespan is not as long as that of the Aen Seidhe, is that true?"

She nodded. "It is. We don't live quite as long, apparently. But there are not masses of tales of half-elves living to ripe, old ages to confirm this, especially since the wars with humans have erupted. As a child, I aged about as fast as a human one, growing perhaps a little bit slower. As time went by, I started aging more and more slowly, until I became somewhat frozen in the human equivalent of the mid-twenties. I've been alive for some forty years, however."

"I see…"

She shrugged. "So… as I was saying, my father grew more interested in me. I remember some very good times we spent together, hunting and bonding and him teaching me about humans customs… He was a kind man, even if he had his flaws. His wife hated that. I know they fought a lot and I believe most of it was because of my mother and me. I think she blamed her impossibility to bear him a healthy son on our being there… as if that made any sense… I remember there was an incident, when I was about ten years of age: we went hunting with some of my father's soldiers and one of them managed to get me away from the group, only to try and kill me. Had my father not stumbled upon him… I would have died. He had the soldier tortured and with his dying breath he denied my father's wife of hiring him, but I know what was always suspected… And then… a couple years after that, there came a day when my father's wife finally gave birth to a son…" She looked away, sad again. "Incidentally, my father fell ill almost at once and… he died. I've always suspected his wife of poisoning him out of spite, now that the vineyard was her son's by inheritance. My mother denied it, but I fear she only ever wanted to stop me from going back there and killing the bitch. Which I undoubtedly would have done."

There was a moment of silence and she looked off into the distance, lost in thought.

"Your mother… is she still alive?" Ge'els questioned gently to bring back her attention.

But at that moment, she felt a pang of dread, almost as if she had glimpsed some hidden horror behind a curtain. Alyra considered for a moment what this Aen Elle was trying to do by questioning her: perhaps he only wanted to know her tale but maybe… just maybe he wanted to find her weak points… In such a case, her mother would be one of those. She immediately decided to lie to protect her, just in case. Surely Ge'els would not keep this story to himself, sharing it with his king at first chance to help the monarch find the girl's weak points and exploit them. It was best they thought her mother dead.

"No." She clenched her jaw, knowing that every lie needed a tad bit of truth to keep it real. "She died not long ago. She… she was a seamstress in the city of Novigrad. We moved there after leaving Toussaint. I always told her… I told her that humans hated everything that wasn't human… how many times did I ask her to leave, to go someplace safe? She could just as well work her art in Mahakam, with the dwarves… I took on extra jobs to gather coin so she could leave… but she stayed. She trusted them and they…"

Alyra got up stiffly and walked over to the balustrade, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. Truth was, her mother was still alive and well, at least as far as she knew. She did indeed live in Novigrad and worked there as a much appreciated seamstress… but the church of the Eternal Fire had taken up more power in the city these past few years and its fanatics were pushing for a purge… the girl had indeed tried to get her elven mother to leave, to no avail. The obtuse Aen Seidhe wanted to stay with the humans that were slowly turning on her… Alyra felt helpless knowing that her mother would probably never hear from her again, never know what had happened to her only daughter. She might actually be in danger at this very moment, threatened by the soldiers of the Eternal Fire… heartless bandits, the lot of them. It was almost too much to bear….

"I'm sorry to hear that." Ge'els said softly.

She was not fooled, knowing he was only seeking for her break points.

Well, he would find none.

She cleared her throat and returned to the table. "When my father died, we fled the keep in the dead of night. My mother knew we were in danger and rightly so: my father's widow sent out scouts to find us and kill us, but we were long gone, vanished into the wilderness... My mother was Aen Seidhe, so she was able to make us live off the plants in the forest, but she was useless when it came to fighting… were it not for me and what I had learned at my father's keep, we would have died in the wilds. I could fight and hunt, so I kept us alive until we reached a city, where she found work as a leatherworker and a seamstress. From that point on, my story gets very repetitive: I travel, I fight, I learn. I've met mages, hunters, Witchers and Aen Seidhe aplenty in my travels and traded with them, knowing the value of knowledge. I hunted every monster known to my world and managed to survive them. I realized I had a bit of potential for magic, so I was capable of learning witcher signs. I became better at what I did until I got to test my skill against three very angry Aen Elle…" She smiled sadly.

Ge'els nodded slowly, watching her with those pale, sharp eyes. "Incidentally, how is it you came in contact with our king? I understand you, or some mage you accompanied, managed to rip open a portal right in the middle of one of his raids? What were you intending?"

She drank a bit more wine. "I wasn't intending anything. The mage I was with had hired me to defend him during a spell he wanted to cast. He told me… he told me he needed to conjure some beast and wanted me to kill it so he could take it back to his laboratory and study it. He never mentioned the said beast would be a hound of the Wild Hunt… had I known, I would have refused him. Unfortunately, I never thought to ask, assuming he wanted to capture some swamp thing… "She sighed heavily. "Looking back, I should have run at the first sight of frost… ah, well…"

"Yet you remained with him. And fought with everything you had." Ge'els said softly and she scoffed.

"Yeah… I have no idea why. I'm a mercenary: honor is not something I hold close to heart. Honor gets even the best knights killed. I guess… I guess I was curious. Wanted to see if I could hold my own against a beast of the Wild Hunt. The peasants make such a big deal about the Spectral Cavalcade… I thought it was all smoke and mirrors. I was wrong."

The viceroy looked at her silently for a long while and she avoided is gaze, staring instead at the city. It shimmered with the light of tiny brazier fires as the heavy curtain of night had fallen on it. In the darkness, as it was impossible to see the elven architecture, it became even easier to pretend she was looking down on Novigrad, or Vizima… and it became even harder to not feel terribly alone and afraid…

"What will happen to me now?" She finally asked, looking at Ge'els again.

He sighed. "A message came from the king while you bathed. He knows you are here and was not pleased with my decision, but I managed to make him understand the… strategic reasons behind my choice. They will face you again on the morrow. Should you somehow, by a near miracle, managed to win again, they will face you again the day after. Each day Eredin is defeated, his fury with increase. Each day you delay the inevitable, each day you deny him satisfaction, it will only serve to make matters much worse for you. I know your witcher brews aid you, but they also take a toll on you. As did the magic you used today. You cannot do this for ever; that much is sure. There will come a day, be it tomorrow or a week from now, when you will stumble… you will no longer have the element of surprise and will lose every advantage the more they get to know you. And you will lose. From that point on, I cannot say what will happen. It will depend on who you will lose to, I suppose, but I believe whichever one of the three gets to you first, he will probably be the last. It is death and pain that await you in this realm, girl…

Make no mistake about that."

(0)


	7. Mistake

WARNING : this chapter will contain graphic depictions of sexual violence. Read at your own risk.

Lucy, I understand you and I think all we can do is keep writing and getting better. I started writing fiction when I was 12 and am now 26. Save for a few dry spells, I've never stopped and, looking back, can see my progress.

Importchic, keep wondering my dear, you might be on to something!

Davs, thank you very much!

Bolondka you have actually raised a very important question, one which I'll admit I had not thought of. And Maybe Alyra had not thought of it either… I'll see to it. Thank you!

(0)

After the supper, she was escorted by a servant and a guard right back to the room where she had bathed. The door shut behind her and she heard the distinct clink of metal sliding on metal: she knew at once she'd been locked in… just in case…

Alyra sighed heavily, noticing her leathers laying on the bed, washed and folded neatly. She began undressing, taking the men's dress clothes off with sharp, angry moves and throwing them unceremoniously across the room, wherever they would land. Her vials of potion she placed on the desk, near the roaring fireplace. She stripped completely and stood, naked, in the center of the room, clenching and unclenching her fists. There was a restlessness about her, a… despair. It was hard not to feel hopeless in a situation such as hers: she was a condemned victim of circumstance, judged and doomed to face the executioner at the first light of dawn… and then face him again the next day if she had to… and then the day after that…

For how long? Ge'els was right about one thing: she could not keep this up eternally. She'd lucked out today, managing to take both generals and their king off guard, but it was bound not to happen again. There was nothing fair about their game: the goal was not for her to win indefinitely. It was for her to lose… Incidentally, she found herself wondering why she hadn't simply gone for a killing blow when faced with her three foes… it seemed like a stupid oversight to play so elegantly into their game…

Alyra knew it wasn't for honor: as a mercenary she had very little of that… but she couldn't quite explain why she hadn't tried to wound them anymore than she had. Somewhere, deep within her, she knew that trying to kill one of them during those fights would have simply resulted in the two others finishing her off, but was that really such a bad way to go? There was more glory to that than to poisoning herself or getting raped and killed… she decided that when faced with them anew, she would at least consider it.

So what now?

Alyra strode, naked, to the only window in the room. It was rather narrow, made of intricate stained glass, but she was small enough that she could squeeze through that opening if she had to…

She unlocked it and pushed it open gently, contorting through it slightly to look outside. The moon and stars were bright, so she was able to slowly make out her surroundings as her eyes got used to the darkness, a stark contrast with the fire-lit brightness of the room behind her. She looked down and noted, with disappointment, that she was several stories up from what appeared to be a bed of jagged rocks… she was facing a stone cliff, so she was at the back of the palace, but the rock surface looked too far to reach, even by a jump, and it was impossible to tell if she could grab on to anything on it in order to climb… Besides, she was unarmed and in a world that was not hers… where was she to go? What was she to do?

Angrily, the girl squeezed her upper half back into the warm room, leaving the window open: she felt overloaded, all of a sudden.

Trying not to give in to panic, Alyra walked over to the bed, throwing back the covers and crawling under them. She curled up in the soft, fresh sheets and tried to calm her walloping heart, her raging mind… she knew she needed to sleep, if she was going to be in any form for her fight the next morning.

But sleep eluded her for the longest time, long after the flames in the hearth had died down to glowing embers… her eyes glowed softly in the darkness as she stared at the far wall… her mind was blank, but filled with a hollow hum of fear. She did not want to give into it. Even when sleep finally claimed her, she tossed and turned, mumbling as dark dreams filled her mind…

Over and over, she faced some angry, dangerous woman in a dark forest and every time she would defeat her, another, exactly the same, would take her place.

At the first light of morning, guards unlocked her room door to find her seated, fully dressed, on her bed, head bowed low and ready to face her fate.

The diluted Thunderbolt coursed through her veins while its concentrated cousin lay in wait in a vial within one of her pouches, more than ready to be consumed.

(0)

"I do hope you've had adequate rest. Your accommodations were somewhat… more comfortable than what I'd first had in mind." Eredin greeted her, standing alongside his generals in the same arena as yesterday, dressed in similar clothes. Again, they had no armor, so they would be easy to cut with a sword, but far more enduring in battle…

"Yes… I'll be sure to spread word about the Aen Elle hospitality far and wide…" She growled spitefully. There was more anger in her heart than there had been yesterday… perhaps the inescapable truth of her fate was slowly settling in.

She was handed her swords as Eredin and Imlerith picked their blades as well.

"I assure you, girl," Eredin growled right back, a cold, evil look flashing across his pale face. "You'll get no such chance."

She squared her jaw and for once kept it shut.

Caranthir stepped closer, swinging his staff lightly, a nasty smirk deforming his lovely features. Those glacier eyes of his were fixed on her with hunger and determination.

"Ready, dh'oine?" He asked softly.

She opened her mouth to answer, but he vanished with a flash of light and Alyra swore angrily, furious at being caught off guard. Thankfully, the witcher brew was plowing through her veins and she pivoted on a foot, keeping her arms close to her body, sensing the mage's re-appearance somewhere behind her… there was a flash of light and she stroke, sure he'd appear…

She hit nothing but a cloud of smoke and understood at once it was a distraction. She twisted blindly to the side, raising her swords and just barely… barely managed to deflect the mage's staff as it aimed for her head… but he was expecting her to block… his hand shot out and he yelled a spell…

A tremendous conflagration exploded between then and without even thinking, Alyra howled out the words to a warding spell, feeling it sap dangerously at her energy as its protective light enveloped her skin… it protected her from the burn of the mage's spell, but the explosion sent her flying nonetheless, soaring several feet back to land heavily into the sand. The girl rolled on herself several times, stunned by the blow, her ears ringing… but she knew she could not stop. Caranthir would certainly not…

She pressed an Yrden sign into the ground and struggled up. He appeared in front of her, but the sign slowed him and she managed to roll out of the way of the blow he was aiming at her… his staff crashed heavily into the ground, sending out a blast of freezing-cold energy. She felt it creep into her bones and threaten to freeze her solid…

Alyra half-held her sword and folded her fingers into Aard, throwing everything she had into the sign. She felt her strength drop to the point her knees buckled under her weight, but the energy blast hit the sorcerer dead-on, knocking his staff from his hand and sending him sprawling into the sand.

For a moment, she thought she was going to faint… there was no more air in her lungs, there was only fire where her body was and she could feel her legs shaking from sheer exhaustion, threatening to fold…

 _No_.

She would not give in…

With an effort so monumental it felt as though she'd shifted a mountain, she placed one foot in front of the other. And again. Then she broke into a run. Someone was howling a rage-filled battle cry and it took all of eternity to realise it was her… Caranthir struggled up, drawing a knife from his belt and preparing another spell, but she was on him too fast… he slashed at her, she parried with one of her swords…

The girl pirouetted lightly, using her momentum to dodge around the elf and stroke again, viciously this time. Her sword caught him in the flank and he did not manage to get out of its way fast enough… blood flowed red from the wound and he let out a rueful shout, his hand shooting out to grab her, before she could even think of trying to stab him again. He managed to find her ponytail and yanked it back cruelly, tugging her whole body towards him as she let out a startled cry.

He was swearing at her furiously, lips pulled back in a hateful snarl and his hands were starting to glow with the energy of a spell. Alyra tried to twist out of his grasp, but only felt him pull her hair harder as she tried to turn around, slash at him again…

"Caranthir!" A voice cracked through the still air like a whip, sharp and commanding.

The mage released her at once, not without a few well-thought swears to go with it, though. She collapsed on her hands and knees, gasping for air, letting go of her swords for just a moment, to grasp her hair… he'd pulled on it so hard she thought he'd rip it right out of her skull… she glanced sideways to see the furious mage stampede out of the arena, under his king's severe gaze. She knew it was him who had stopped Caranthir, but she was not fool enough to think it was to protect her: Eredin only wanted his own turn at her.

Considering how her brief confrontation with the mage has weakened her, she felt even less apt at holding her own against either of the two opponents remaining. This was not going well…

The girl picked up her swords and walked towards Eredin and Imlerith gingerly, feeling the Thunderbolt somewhat replenish her energy. She hadn't taken the Swallow… her mistake… Caranthir's spell had more than surely cracked a few of her ribs: she felt a stab of pain in her ribcage every time she took a breath.

Eredin was staring at her with a certain degree of curiosity.

"I'll admit you are surprisingly resilient and resourceful. More so than I would have thought. And you do not lack for courage…" He said softly.

She spit on the ground and noted a few droplets of blood came out as well. "Shut up and fight." She snarled hatefully, her lips curling over her bared teeth.

It was Imlerith who stepped forward as she slipped into a battle pose, eyeing him carefully. He was smirking confidently and she just hoped he'd underestimate her again… somehow she didn't think he would, but maybe…

"You look tiered, bastard dh'oine. I do admire your determination, but it won't save you." He growled coolly, swinging his sword in an arc.

She narrowed her eyes. "And you didn't wear your armor. I admire your courage bloede Aen Elle, but it won't save you."

He scoffed, but did not charge. Unfortunately, he had understood she was not to be underestimated. Instead, he started walking slowly towards her, grabbing his large blade with two hands and staring at her intensely. She rooted her feet firmly into the ground and tensed her body, but stood on her toes as to be ready to move quickly out of the way of his attack.

Their gazes could have ignited a fire from sheer intensity… Alyra noted once again his bright tattoos and the ferocious look they gave him… and realised her own scar probably had a very similar effect…

Imlerith stroke, lighting-fast, his blade a blur, aiming at her side. She pivoted just as fast and deflected the blow, but felt a sharp pain course through her midsection and flinched… it slowed her down and she barely managed to catch his sword with her second one as it flashed towards her anew. He swung with his arms fully extended and she had to stumble back out of the steel's way, knowing she did not have the force to block it. He kept coming at her, relentless. She had two swords, but was only just as fast as he was with a single one.

Her footwork was flawless, but his had centuries of experience behind it… she knew she could not afford to drop a sword to cast a sign, so she had to keep defending against his blows. The Thunderbolt was allowing her to hold her own, but not having taken the Swallow that morning was proving to be a big mistake: she could feel a sharp pain in her ribs with every motion and it was preventing her from breathing in properly…

Within minutes she was panting, unable to catch her breath, her parries becoming slower and sloppy… his sword fell upon her faster and heavier as he put everything he had into his attack, teeth bared in savage rage. He'd backed her up against one of the arena's circular walls and she got an idea…

The girl leapt back rapidly, just as he stroke with all his strength, apparently meaning to cleave her in half… he did not expect the sudden dodge and stumbled forward, off balance as she jumped up against the wall, pushing herself off it into a clumsy forward roll. Alyra kicked up sand and pirouette again, staying behind the massive warrior as he tried to regain his balance and face her.

She raised her swords to strike him in the back, but his own blade appeared seemingly out of nowhere as he twisted around rapidly and blocked her attack so brutally that the blow sent one of her blades flying. She was wide open, her defence completely dropped… before she could even think to bring her last remaining sword around to continue her assault, his blade flashed brightly in front of her face and she felt the cool metal cut shallowly into her unmarred cheek.

'Great… a second scar on my face…' She thought bitterly, as if trying to refuse facing the truth of what that cut meant…

"First blood." Imlerith reminded her with a voice so cold and cruel she felt her stomach heave… or maybe that was the Thunderbolt. She adamantly refused to bend over in front of him, even to throw up, so she gritted her teeth tightly together and controlled herself.

Alyra was unable to catch her breath, still tightly clenching her last remaining sword and had every intention of using it to defend herself to the death… there was no way she was going to go anywhere with that monster…

Imlerith stared at her. "You can either drop that blade and I may find some mercy and let you live… or you can try and fight me. In which case you'll end up begging me for death. Your choice, half-bloed." He said ever so softly, as if reading her mind… her intentions were probably more than easy to guess…

She stared at him for a long moment, jaw set tightly and bright green eyes filled to the brim with defiance and fury… until, slowly, she dropped her gaze. Alyra swallowed heavily, tears threatening to spill as she gently opened her hand and let her blade fall to the ground with a soft thud. It sounded like her life coming to an end… soft, silent and without anyone caring…

"Good girl." Imlerith growled marching up to her and grabbing her roughly by an arm. Her ribcage burned with pain at the sudden motion, but she did not let a single sound escape her tightly pressed lips as he cruelly pulled her along with him to gods know where. Alyra kept her gaze lowered, especially as they reached Eredin, having too much pride to watch him gloat at her shame.

"Wait." The king said softly. Imlerith halted at once, but she looked up and saw him throw a look at his monarch that was heavy, promising he would fight for his right to have her, should he somehow be denied his victory.

Eredin came up to her and grasped her under the chin, not gently, to force her to look him right in his glacier eyes. She locked her face under a look of anger and revolt, that he might not see her fear.

"I have a proposition for you, considering your unexpected talents as a fighter." He spoke in a dangerous voice and she heard Imlerith grumble next to her. "Join me. Join the Wild Hunt. Ride with us and you'll be spared."

Alyra stared at him long and hard, searching his gaze for a trap, a mockery… she found none. He was serious. She'd heard much about the Hunt, about what they did, who they were… it was not common for non-Aen Elle to ride with them, but it was not unheard of… and it could save her from whatever Imlerith had planned…

"I'd rather die." She said in the gentlest, most uncaring voice she could muster.

"You'll come to wish for death, that much is certain." Eredin answered coldly. "But you will change your mind. All you need is… time. Enjoy yourself, Imlerith. Do try not to kill her… Caranthir and I have things to settle with her as well."

He stared after her as she was dragged off without a word.

(0)

Imlerith pulled her through the corridors adjacent the arena without a word. She struggled ever so slightly, truly unsure of what she should be doing… was she going willingly to her own rape, following this monster like some beaten dog? Did she have a choice? Could she hope to ambush him once they were alone? Where was he taking her anyway?

The concentrated vial of Thunderbolt weighted a thousand stone in its tiny pouch at her waist. She was excruciatingly aware of it, barely capable of believing she was probably going to have to use it… Alyra didn't seem to be able to wrap her mind around that reality, no matter the imminent threat of terrible things to come.

They strode out into the streets, which were mercifully empty.

Imlerith let go of her. "You will follow me. Should you try and run, or try and fight me, I'll take you to the guard barracks and let them chose what they want to do with you. Is that clear, dh'oine?"

She glanced at him and nodded slowly. He smirked coolly and walked off with her in tow. Alyra decided to see where they were going… she might still get a chance to run… damned be his threat. If she had to end her life, she would do it without thinking twice…

Without thinking twice of her mother, alone in Novigrad? The thought came unbidden, from a little voice called survival, which was ready and set to make her doubt that drastic end, no matter what she faced… it did indeed give her reason to pause… but what help was she to her mother in this world anyways? She was already as good as dead.

Imlerith led her to the stables, where a young servant boy was quick to fetch a large, black warhorse when he saw them nearing. The beast brought forward was huge, easily seventeen hands high, but that was obviously not an issue for the Aen Elle, who mounted the stallion effortlessly, seating himself comfortably in the saddle. Imlerith look down at her and extended a hand. Alyra hesitated briefly, not particularly keen on touching him, but she finally grabbed his outstretched arm firmly… he pulled her up into the saddle, in front of him, with as much effort as it might take one to lift a child. Only then did she truly appreciate his strength… the girl felt dread slowly seep into her belly.

"Hold out your left hand." He ordered. She did as she was bid. Imlerith removed the leather glove covering her hand and tucked it away into one of the saddle bags. Before she could think to react, he fastened some metal band around her wrist briskly and kicked the horse into motion. She seized the chilly metal at once, running her other, gloved hand over the band, discreetly trying to slip a finger under it to remove it… it was no use. The thing was tightly shut around her arm and she couldn't seem to find any joint on it that even showed where it had clipped…

"I trust you recognize the metal." Imlerith growled from behind her as they trotted through the streets. It wasn't easy to sit comfortably in a saddle without stirrups, so she squeezed her thighs against the horse to avoid bouncing around too much… holding the reigns with one hand, Imlerith grasped her roughly around the waist with the other, pressing her against him… she felt his stiffening arousal push against her ass and clenched her teeth tightly, her stomach roiling as she remembered what Ge'els had told her about the Wild Hunt general. Shaken, she turned her attention back to the metal and recognized it quickly enough.

"It's dimeritium." She said softly, her heart plummeting. "It…"

"It blocks magic." Imlerith finished for her as they rode to the outskirts of the city and up a twisting path that led into the mountains somewhat. "I trust you aren't stupid enough to try anything, but just in case you get any ideas…"

No more signs or illusions for her… if she wanted to fight him… _if she could fight him_ , she'd have to do it with her fists apparently…

Where was he taking her exactly? She found she was terrified of knowing and had no desire to ask him. And perhaps it truly did not matter, in the end…

He led the horse off the small path and into the trees a few yards before stopping the huge creature. They were surrounded by thick, tall trees and the silence was oppressing. Alyra was paralysed.

Imlerith grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and threw her unceremoniously off the horse. The girl landed with a certain amount of grace, avoiding a harsh tumble thanks to her years of training. She wasn't some valley maiden, after all… for all the good it did her. The general disembarked from his stallion and walked towards her with deadly, slow steps, his amber eyes trained on her, a hungry look brewing deep within them. She liked it not one bit and backed up slightly until she felt the rough bark of a tree press against her back, cutting off her escape.

"Take off your clothes." He ordered as he stopped a few feet away from her, studying her intently. Alyra's throat was dry as a bone as she hesitated, yet slowly obliged, realising her hands were shaking… she was trembling like a leaf and felt anger and shame fill her heart. She'd been with men before on numerous occasions… but never had any single one managed to take her by force, even if many had tried. Rape was no new thing to a lonely woman on the road, only… until today, she'd always trusted in her capabilities to defend herself and kill whoever tried to hurt her. Now, facing Imlerith, she knew she did not stand a chance…

The girl kept her eyes down and blinked her angry tears away, removing her other leather glove to let it drop sadly to the ground. She unclipped her chainmail shirt and wiggled out of it, pulling it over her head, the metal rings slowly flowing out of her limp hands like water. It fell to the ground with a thud. She fiddled with her belt cautiously, one hand playing with the clasp while the other sneaked into the side pouch and sought after a small, corked vial. Imlerith had not moved, but was breathing heavily, hungrily, like some predatory animal, staring at her avidly.

Her fingers found the vial and slipped around it irrevocably. The potion vanished into her closed fist as she undid her belt and let it fall to the ground. Slowly, still not looking up at him, she reached with both her hands towards her throat, as if to undo the clasps to her leather clothes.

Instead, one of her nails slid into the vial's cork, catching it tightly and with a swift move, she opened the tiny container of death.

Alyra shut her eyes tightly and thrust the vial to her open mouth, tears finally falling from her eyes, burning into the bleeding wound on her cheek.

There was not a thought in her mind.

There was not a regret.

There was only void.

Until Imlerith moved faster than she could imagine, seizing her wrist with an iron grip and preventing her from swallowing the Thunderbolt. Her eyes flew open, green and full of a hurricane of despair, pain, fear and fury, setting on his amber gaze… he was amused. She felt her stomach twist.

"Going somewhere, little dh'oine?" He asked softly, crushing her wrist in his grip like steel, until she cried out, dropping the vial. It fell to the ground and cracked on a root, spilling its contents into the ground, forever lost… her legs trembled and Imlerith grabbed her by the throat, slamming her against the tree so brutally she felt all the air in her lungs rush out… gasping, the girl struggled, trying to grab a hold of the hand that was crushing her windpipe, alarmed at how the Aen Elle before seemed to be becoming increasingly amused and dangerous.

He turned, throwing her onto the forest floor like no more than a doll. Alyra hit her hip on a rock and cracked her head on a root. The blow made her vision swim briefly… or maybe that was the tears… pain was shooting through her ribs and she turned onto her belly, a sob caught in her throat, trying to crawl away from the elf.

Who caught her by a boot and pulled her towards him.

She cried out wordlessly, refusing to beg, even as she felt him crawl atop her.

"Let go of me!" She screamed at last, feeling his hands snake up against her pants as he nearly ripped them off her in his brutality and haste.

"Not likely." Imlerith growled hungrily, pinning one of her thighs to the ground with a knee as he worked on her pants. The weight of his knee digging into her limb was more than enough to make her scream out as she kept wiggling, trying to escape his grasp. He managed to pull her trousers off, along with her boots and smallclothes as she struggled against him to rise, roaring with growing despair. Out here in the woods, no one would hear her, but it did not matter. She would not go down meekly, damnit!

He reached a cruel hand behind her head, grabbing a handful of her hair, which was still tender from her fight with Caranthir and forced her to look at him, panting and in pain, as he smirked coldly at her.

"If you keep struggling, this will be excruciatingly painful for you." He warned. "But stop fighting and I won't hurt you any more than need be."

"What, am I supposed to enjoy myself, too?" She snarled furiously, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

He grinned wickedly. "If you want to; it's naught to me. So? What will it be?"

Alyra found she was blushing and felt a mountain-load of anger at herself for that. The hand holding her hair pulled back harshly and she let out a furious snarl, wiggling anew to get away from him, refusing to cooperate. She slipped her leg out from under his and managed to twist to her stomach again, his hand still in her hair as she tried to crawl away from him. She felt his free hand reach around to her leather jerkin and tug at it roughly, ripping the clasps. He undid the whole thing that way, exposing the fine linen shirt underneath… which he promptly ripped up as well as she growled and struggled. The cold air was sending goose bumps all over her body as he grabbed her breast roughly and squeezed it painfully, drawing another cry from her lips. He pulled her head back by the hair and Alyra let out a pained sob… that turned into a howling scream when she felt him bite angrily into the soft skin of her neck until he drew blood.

"Stop!" She cried out, the bright pain radiating into her body.

He stopped biting and let go of her hair, but did not released her breast, which he was squeezing and simultaneously caressing, teasing at her erect nipple. The bite wound throbbed and she felt blood trickling slowly from it, down her chest. She felt helpless, pinned beneath his weight to the cool forest earth… helpless as his other hand trailed down her back, over her bare ass and between her legs…

He was being deliberately slow and teasing, she knew. His hand, surprisingly soft, dawdled across her inner thighs, causing her stomach to clench and a fire to erupt between her legs… goose bumps rose over her skin, not from the cold this time. Alyra bit her lip, shut her eyes and pressed her forehead against the dirt, swearing to herself that she would not make a sound…

But when his fingers finally traced over the lips of her womanhood, she moaned…

Her hips wiggled in response to a new caress and she cried out softly, half in despair and half in lust… she could hear his heavy breath and just knew he was smirking at her, those amber eyes burning with need…

He kept caressing her softly, mischievously, taking his sweet time and never nearing her most delicate spot, as she bit her lips until they bled to stop herself from moaning like some bitch in heat…

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, his fingers slipped between her lips, into the burning wetness there and she felt a horrible mix of desperate, needful lust laced with shame and hate… he slipped a finger into her and prodded her openly, slipping in and out of her soaking hole as she was unable to stop her hips from bucking up to meet his movement…

"Knew you'd enjoy yourself, varh'he…" He growled from behind her, his voice filled with lust. She let out a snarl, slamming an angry fist into the ground and swearing loudly.

He withdrew his teasing finger, fumbled for a moment with his pants behind her and she tried for a final time to struggle out of his grasp with what was left of her determination, but he seized her roughly around the waist, pain shooting through her ribs, and she felt him press his member against her opening.

Alyra gritted he teeth and shut her eyes, but she screamed nonetheless when he pushed his length into her without warning, her cunt clenching painfully around him… she hadn't been with a man for a few months now and he was surprisingly large… it was incredibly painful…

He did not wait for her to relax or accommodate, pulling out of her roughly and pushing himself back in with a hungry grunt. She groaned, tears spilling from her eyes, pinned beneath his weight and forced to endure what he was doing… he kept a hold around her waist with one arm, but his second one slipped beneath her hips, his fingers finding her cunt and the sensitive nub of pleasure there… which he began rubbing as he mounted her on the forest floor, growling into her ear.

The painful pleasure between her legs became unbearable and she found herself grunting with him, bucking her hips to meet his aggressive thrusts as they increased in speed… his hand was playing with her just right and her grunts turned into moans, which culminated into a drawn-out snarl of pleasure as she pushed herself against him, climaxing forcefully from the combined pounding of his hard member and caressing hand.

He pushed her hips up against him, fully sheathed in her burning cunt and filled her with his seed as he came, biting down on her shoulder cruelly. He did not draw blood this time, but it hurt like hell nonetheless.

Alyra's heart was pounding wildly and she was panting as the last remaining waves of pleasure receded, giving up their place to a very profound feeling of anger mixed with shame. She felt his member twitch deeply within her and held back a soft moan, hating the fact that such a feeling caused her more pleasure than it did pain… she despised him, no mistake about that… but she probably hated herself even more for having enjoyed that violent moment like nothing more than an animal in heat.

Imlerith pulled out of her and laced up his pants as she got up on all fours before sitting down on her folded legs, eyes closed, as she felt his warm seed run down her thighs. Her body hurt: her neck and shoulder throbbed from his bite, her ribs were full of needles from her fight, her cut cheeks was covered in dirt and she felt a dull ache in her head and hip from when he'd thrown her to the ground… but worst of all was the hollow throbbing between her legs, almost aching to be filled again…

She growled. _No. No. NO._

Before she could think further on anything, Imlerith grabbed her by an arm and hauled her up to her feet. She looked up at him and held his amber gaze with as much fury as she could muster, hiding her fear and shame somewhere deep within herself, so that he may not enjoy them.

"Get dressed. I'm not done with you." He ordered coldly.

She glanced down at her pants, laying there on the ground beside her boots and assessed that they had not been damage beyond repair. She picked them up and slipped into them gingerly, lacing them up, before slipping into her boots. She felt slightly better wearing her clothes anew and turned her attention to her shirt: it was in worse condition. The leather jerkin was too torn to close, so she just shrugged it off and bundled it with her gloves, belt and chainmail shirt. The linen shirt she wore underneath everything was slightly ripped, but she was able to keep it closed by tying it on itself. When she was done, she looked at the Aen Elle who nodded towards the horse, which was waiting patiently nearby. She'd almost forgot about the beast; it had made so little noise and had not moved an inch… she thought sadly of Oxon, who she knew would have come to her aid had he been there… her heart clenched as thought of her dead horse, probably reduced to bones by necrophages in the damp swamp where he'd fallen.

Imlerith mounted up again and pulled her into the saddle in front of him, like before.

They returned to the path at a leisurely pace and kept following it into the mountains. The throbbing between her legs pulsated with the horse's every step.

Alyra slowly realized that there was nothing but a cold void where once she had been… even her fury had somehow dulled down She gave in to abandon, knowing her suffering was not done… but one thing was certain…

Imlerith would pay for it.

(0)

All done for this! I hope the scene was not too hard to bear, but I must sadly announce that I'm no through with our poor Alyra. If this type of thing truly bothers you, I strongly suggest you stop reading, as there will be more of it.

Don't forget to review!


	8. Hounds & dogs

Lucy, after writing this story, not sure I can look at any of them the same on my next playthrough!

Importchic, there will be plenty more fighting before I'm done here.

Bolondka, I try to keep an erotic feel to it, not just a horror. Glad I kind of hit the mark between discomfort/turn-on. It is not an easy line to walk.

Laud, glad to see you again and I am also glad you like my OC.

(0)

They rode further up into the mountain along the twisting path. A sharp turn around a sheer cliff wall revealed a manse of some sort a bit further up, which had been invisible until that moment. Alyra looked at it wearily, noting it resembled Ge'els' palace in the way that it was built into the mountain's stone, but it was much smaller and less elaborate. She figured it was Imlerith's place of dwelling… they were far from the city, far from civilisation… she disliked it more and more…

They rode up to the front steps, where a stable hand came to catch the horse by the reigns as Imlerith disembarked, pulling her along with him. She stepped gingerly on the ground, her whole body aching unpleasantly and followed the Aen Elle as he led the way inside. She tried to ignore the dull pain between her legs to keep her pace even and not betray what had happened back there, in the forest. Not far off, she heard unmistakable snapping, snarling and howling, like the sounds an angry pack of wolves would make during a hunt… there was not much around save the mountains and the manse, so she figured the sound was coming from somewhere on the premises.

Guards opened the front doors for them and still she trailed after Imlerith like some beaten animal, head down and hiding her suffering as best she could. She thought she heard one of the guards chuckle, but could not tell if she was simply imagining things… Inside, the spacious entrance hall was much like Ge'els' had been: the thick stone walls worked with elven magic and covered by intricate, clinging vines and spots of moss that betrayed their age. However, here the walls were adorned with weapons of all sort instead of cubic art: shiny blades, maces and intricate shields too tall for her to handle, along with morning stars, claymores, longbows and short bows of distinctly elven working. The weapons were all kept polished and were obviously of very high quality… only a master weaponsmith could have forged those… she moved towards them slowly, observing them with a lot of interest.

Imlerith noted her curiosity.

"They come from all manner of worlds the Wild Hunt has raided." He explained softly, but smirked coolly when he saw eyeing blades not unlike her own. "Don't worry, though… they're all dull."

She clenched her teeth in disappointment, but hid it well enough. He was right in his assumption: she had been hoping to grab one of those and fight him with it…

Imlerith came up behind her and ran a hand slowly over the nape of her neck, sending unpleasant shivers down her spine. He grabbed her neck softly, deliberately and spoke in a voice that made her hairs stand on end…

"Since you seem so very eager to fight, I'll let you have some fun." The hand behind her head grabbed her more forcefully and he turned her, pushing her along through a corridor. "Ge'els told us why you disrupted one of our raids… how you were so curious to see if you could face a hound of the Hunt…" He led her through the manse, all the way to another door, which he pushed open with a hand, while nearly throwing her through with the other.

She found herself in an open-sky courtyard that seemed to be in the centre of the palace, square and surrounded by a balcony on the second floor and terrace on the first. It might have once housed gardens and perhaps fountains of some sort, but the place had been stripped bare, left to a naked stone ground that served as a training area. Imlerith shut the door behind them with a resonating bang and the armored Hunt fighters that had been practicing combat in the courtyard ceased at once, glancing in their direction, before saluting their general stiffly and standing at attention.

Alyra noted there were hounds there as well, big spiked beasts that prowled the far side of the yard, next to an unarmoured Aen Elle holding a long staff. They were the ones snapping and snarling, explaining why she'd heard such sounds when they arrived at the palace. The elf wielding a staff came closer and the hounds followed him carefully, never passing his heels; he was leering at her and she withstood his gaze with impunity. His eyes were dark, his hair was dark and what was emanating from his soul seemed dark as well; he was not unpleasant to look upon, but then again, most Aen Elle weren't.

"Brought back a new pet, sire?" He asked with a lewd grin as he reached them. He stopped, tapping his staff softly on the ground, making the hounds freeze in place with snaps and growls as they stared at her avidly.

"This is Deithren, kennel master." Imlerith explained softly. "He trains the Hunt's hounds. His most ferocious ones I keep here to practice alongside the soldiers. Deithren," the general stepped away from her as the dozen or so armored soldiers formed a circle, with her in the middle. Their faces were covered, but she could feel this amused stares on her. "This half-dh'oine thinks she can fight off a hoard of hounds all on her own. What say you?"

Alyra kept quiet, curling her hands into fists, refusing to give Imlerith the satisfaction of seeing her terror.

Deithren scoffed cruelly, twirling his staff. "I think she can give it a try if she wants, the bastard dh'oine."

"Half dh'oine." Alyra grumbled. She would not ask them to remove the dimeritium band. She would not ask them to supply her with a weapon. She would not ask for her vial of Swallow. She would not beg them for anything.

If she had to die, torn by hounds of the Wild Hunt, so be it. At least she wouldn't have to endure Imlerith raping her again.

Deithren stared at her with cold amusement.

"Just don't let them kill her." Imlerith said quietly.

The kennel master grinned, his white teeth flashing brightly. She braced herself, her body falling into a combat position on its own… the sheer pain that had been plaguing her for the past hours vanished as her mind focused and every fiber in her being mobilized with the sole purpose of surviving. If she had to die, she would do it while fighting with everything she had.

His staff tapped on the ground and he whistled briskly.

There were five hounds. They snapped ferociously and dashed forward, circling her rapidly, their sharp claws skittering on the stone floor. Deithren snapped a command in the Elder Speech but she did not hear it, uncaring: she raised her fists to her face and got ready to fight.

The first hound pounced from her left. She pivoted sharply and slammed her forearm with all weight behind it against its flank, sending it flying into its charging brethren. Pain shot out through her ribs, but the girl gritted her teeth, lips pulled back in an animal snarl as she kept her fists raised.

Another hound was sneaking behind her, so she twisted on a foot and kicked at it. It dodged out of her way with a howl and she pirouette again, her hip in pain, just barely managing to punch a leaping beast in the head… its skin was hard as stone and she felt the blow shockwave through her bones painfully. It landed aside with an annoyed growl, showing no sign of being hurt…

Alyra tensed, ready for the next one…

One charged from her right so she twisted, dodging deftly aside from it and aiming a hard kick at its side: she caught it and it went flying, but another hound leapt over it and slammed into her like a stampeding fiend. Her breath caught in her lungs as they went tumbling down to the hard ground, its jaws snapping angrily inches from her face… she had her arms up against its chest when they fell to the ground and was pushing back as hard as she could against the furious creature as it clamped its jaws open and shut in front of her face, hot drool splattering onto her. She screamed angrily at it, pushing with all her might… and felt a powerful jaw close around her foot and begin pulling…

She was yanked from beneath the hound, held painfully by the foot. She tried to rise, holding herself up on her arms, aiming a kick at the beast pulling her leg… Alyra managed to hit it, but it only snarled and bit down harder, threatening to break through her leather boot and into her skin.

Deithren was shouting some order nearby but she could not make out what he was saying…

She twisted on herself to try and rise, kicked again… another hound circled her and leapt, grabbing her by the wrist, just above the dimeritium band and pulled as well. She reached out with a pained cry to try and grab it, but it yanked her sharply and she collapsed, suddenly out of energy… It bit down harder and she felt it pierce her skin, drawing blood… the smell sent the others into a frenzy and one grabbed her free leg, tugging painfully…

Deithren roared a command and they all froze in place without releasing her, panting hungrily.

She pushed herself up on her last remaining arm and looked up hatefully at Imlerith as he neared calmly, a cruel look in his eyes.

"Not faring so well, are you?" He chuckled coldly and she heard the soldier laugh as well, pointing at her.

"Just kill me already, you asshole." She snarled, crying out when one of the hound bit down more painfully. "Let them rip me apart. What is it to you?" The pain was making her scream.

He crouched down in front of her. "Death would be too easy for you. I told you you'd come to beg for it, in the end. I plan to keep my promise." He said quietly, just for her to hear. Then, he raised his voice so the others might hear as well. "You have a choice, half-bloed. You can either ask nicely and I'll let you come spend the evening with me, or…" He rose and she saw the soldiers remove their helms to better see her, their pale, pointed faces amused. "Or I can leave you to Deithren and his beasts. I hear the hounds like mounting a varh'he after a good fight."

There was a general chuckled and she clamped her jaw shut, looking down. Was he bluffing? Would he really leave her to… to get fucked by beasts?

Alyra swallowed her shame and decided she'd rather not find out how serious he was, even if the words about to leave her mouth were burning like hot coals.

"I…" She cleared her clenched throat. "I'd rather go with you."

She was not accustomed to begging and came to realise she really, really did not like the bitter taste it left in her mouth. Her humiliation grew, but her fury grew exponentially with it.

Imlerith smirked. "I thought I told you to ask nicely, varh'he."

She bit back the long stream of angry swear threatening to break through her lips and took a slow, long breath.

"Please."

There was a moment of excruciating silence that the general took great pleasure in extending as she stared down at his boots, blinding anger burning in her chest, the hounds still holding her in their unforgiving jaws.

"You beg so prettily. So be it." He snapped his fingers and Deithren tapped his staff on the ground sharply. The hounds released her at once, backing up several steps with bone-chilling howls, before returning to their master's side as she rose slowly, grimacing gingerly from the various wounds on her person.

Her wrist was bleeding slowly from where the beast had bit her, leaving behind a sequence of clear puncture marks, so she clamped her other hand over the holes and applied pressure to stop the blood from flowing. Alyra kept her eyes on the ground, exhausted… this day was really starting to be much too long to her liking… and she had a feeling it was nowhere near done.

"Back to your practice, soldiers." Imlerith ordered nonchalantly, as though nothing had happened. "With me, girl."

He turned and walked off and she found she had no choice but to follow him, the soldiers' demeaning whispers trailing behind her like some dark clouds. She tried not to limp, but the beasts had crunched down hard on her feet and every step was agony.

She wondered how much more she could take before snapping… somehow, she knew there was still much defiance left in her: she was a proud, strong being, after all. She had a nearly limitless threshold for pain, having endured a lot of anguish in the past… she had the scars to prove it.

But Alyra also knew that, contrary to the past, where there had been a clear path out of her pain and limited amount of time she had to endure it, this time she was at the mercy of beings who had centuries of time to spend torturing her, if they so willed it. The prospect of having to endure this for years almost made her throw up… she immediately chased that thought from her mind, refusing to accept it.

Imlerith slowed slightly to allow her to keep up with him, glancing at her. "Well, you have your answer. You're no match for the hounds of the Wild Hunt."

She grumbled. Even if she knew it would server her better to keep her mouth shut, it was out of her control. "I would have stood a chance if I had been armed. Like in the tower where, need I remind you, I slew a few of them."

The general stopped and she braced herself, sure he'd hit her… instead, Imlerith turned to look at her, his amber eyes shining dangerously, amused.

"Fair enough. Would you like to try anew with a weapon?"

She bit back her retort, knowing he would force her to go back there if she said what was on her mind. She was mangled, exhausted and in terrible pain… she knew she would not stand a chance in hell and, this time, he wouldn't ask her for her opinion before letting the beasts mount her.

"No, thank you." She said as politely and lightly as she could. "I'm clearly no match for them."

"You do realise that your defiance only makes it so much more pleasant to see you break, don't you?" He moved towards her and raised a hand to her cheek, running a finger along the length of her old scar. His touch caused a mixed feeling of revolt and excitement to awake in her belly, twisting it. She hated it.

"And you can be sure we will see you break, half-bloed."

(0)

She followed him through the dark corridors of the manse. Imlerith seemed less concerned with lighting braziers every few feet, as Ge'els had been and, as such, it was colder and damper in his palace. They reached a set of heavy double doors, which the tall Aen Elle pushed open without effort and stepped inside. A young female servant, possible elven by the slight point of her ears, appeared seemingly out of nowhere and rushed into the room behind them, head low and eyes riveted to the floor. Alyra noted the servants here seemed unusually nervous and docile… after seeing what Imlerith was capable of doing to her, she was unsurprised.

"Draw a bath." The general ordered in an emotionless voice, giving the servant girl as much attention as if she'd been a dog. "And do not disturb us."

"Yes, sire." She barely whispered before retreating, never even looking up at Alyra, who was gazing curiously at her, wondering if she too was Aen Seidhe. It made no matter, she supposed… it's not like shared blood made them kindred and she was not like to find an ally in a frightened maid at the service of her tormentor.

Imlerith shut the door behind her and she took a few tentative steps into the spacious room.

It was clearly a bedchamber… probably his. It was vast, with a towering ceiling supported by massive stone columns and illuminated by a large, stained-glass window on one end, as well as a warm fire crackling in the immense fireplace on one wall… it was probably big enough that she could stand within it without bending. Opposite the hearth was a massive bed made of heavy, dark wood and covered with an array of animal skins, some of which from beasts she had probably never even seen. Such furs also littered the stone ground, giving a sense of warmth to the cavernous room. There were a few bookcases up against the walls, but she did not take Imlerith for much of a scholar, so she figured they were probably more for show. The various chests stashed in every corner, overflowing with innumerable armor pieces, were more in his style…

She felt his hand up against her back as he pushed her, not ungently, towards the centre of the room. She moved a bit and turned to face him, weary.

"You look tiered." He stated.

She scoffed, but bit back an answer. Just as well, because he scowled ever so slightly and she knew he was just daring her to be smartass…

"Do you still have the witcher potions you used to heal yourself?"

Alyra knew she lying would probably be useless, seeing as her pouch containing the brews was in his possession, but she still felt a strong desire to defend her only current advantage.

"I do. They're in the pouches on my belt, which you put in the horse's saddlebags." She did not ask why he wanted to know. If he wanted to explain, he would.

"I understand one enhances your abilities and the other heals you, correct?" He moved closer to her and she strongly resisted the urge to back away, knowing it would only cost her pain and misery.

"That's right. The Swallow heals, the Thunderbolt helps me fight." She gritted her teeth as he reached her and began slowly untying her torn shirt, fighting her every instinct to bat his hands away.

"Do they heal wounds in such a manner that they will not scar?"

Her shirt came undone and he dropped it to the floor, revealing her upper body. It was warm in the room, but a shiver still crept up her spine and raised the hairs on her neck and arms. She was staring straight ahead, at his chest, jaw set and refusing to meet his gaze. Alyra thought of the ugly bite mark he had left on the juncture of her neck and shoulder, as well as the cut to her cheek, which was now smeared with dirt and grit, coagulated but filthy.

"Fresh wounds can heal well enough, but old ones won't. I have the scars to prove it."

He ran a finger down the old wound on her cheek and gazed at the rest of her: she had, indeed, various old scars in varying degrees of severity. Some were from banal accidents, which she had not bothered to heal profusely with a Swallow potion, others had almost been the end of her: the one that started at her cheek and ended at her shoulder, a thick one from a piercing blow to her stomach, which had traversed her and emerged through her back, one from an arrow to her thigh and another from an enraged striga right below her armpit, where the beast had ripped her chainmail to shreds. She'd refused any striga contracts after that one, knowing she had pushed her luck that time…

Alyra took in a sharp gasp of air as Imlerith ran a hard nail across the cut on her cheek, ripping the scab and drawing blood anew.

"You've earned these. Would be a shame to see them vanish." He growled softly and she answered nothing, wondering if he was going to let her take the Swallow. Healing might mean she would stand a chance against them on the morrow… "Have you ever pleasured a man with your mouth?"

The question caught her completely off guard and she found herself lost for words, mumbling as her stomach twisted into a knot. "I…I… yes, I have, but…"

He undid her pants and slid them off her hips. She let them drop and stepped out of them, kicking her boots off as well. Heat was rising to her face, but she knew fighting this was useless: she was in pain and he was too strong. He wouldn't kill her if she resisted: he would only make it worse…

"Good. Then I won't have to explain to you how to do it." He grabbed her beneath the chin roughly and forced her to look up, right into his terrible amber eyes. The red tattoos on his face seemed to glow and flicker in the light of the fire, giving him a morbid look. "If I feel your teeth, girl, I'll personally rip each and every single one of them out. So hold back the biting."

'This asshole reads minds…' She thought bitterly. The thought had crossed her mind, be it only to cause him petty pain and delay her own suffering, but she knew it was stupid to act upon. To drive his point home, he gripped her hard by the hair and pulled down, forcing her to her knees in front of him with a pained cry. He was tall enough that she was barely face to face with his groin in that position. Imlerith held her by the hair roughly with one hand and unlaced his breeches with the other, and she was met with his hard member and no other option but to do as he asked…

She'd done this before because men were wont to enjoy a mouth on their pricks quite a lot. She didn't hate it either… but this was different, of course. Being forced to do it… Alyra parted her tightly clenched teeth angrily, wrapped a free hand around the base of his member and took Imlerith into her mouth, knowing the sooner she did this, the sooner it would be over…

His cock was long and thick and, with a blush, she realized he tasted of her cunt… that though stirred something within her belly which she was not quite sure she disliked… there was an enticing hunger to the act, as his hand loosed slightly in her hair to let her suck up and down his length at her own rhythm. She heard him groan with pleasure as his other hand found the side of her face and cupped it, almost tenderly… she hated the fire that this awoke between her legs, but it was beyond her. She was careful not to touch him with her teeth, but it was hard considering his size: he filled her mouth to the brim and she probably nicked him with a canine once or twice, but he didn't seem to mind… Alyra glanced up and saw he had his head pulled back, enjoying her work. She licked up and down his shaft teasingly, her hand squeezing him at the base and moving up and down slowly in rhythm with her mouth.

Imlerith's hand grabbed her hair harshly anew and slowly, deliberately slowed her to a stop, before pulling her mouth from his cock. She glanced up at him, biting her lip, wondering what now…

"Up." He growled hungrily and she started to rise, but he pulled her up, deciding she was taking too long. His hands grasped around her waist; she gasped as needles of pain shot through her ribs, a memento of her earlier fight and he raised her up like she weighted nothing… the Aen Elle backed her up roughly against the wall next the hearth and she wrapped her legs around his hips, understanding suddenly what he was going to do…

"No…" She tried to pull away, pushing on his chest with feeble arms. Absently, she saw the puncture wounds left by the hound bleeding anew. "Let go… no!"

Imlerith ignored her, forcing his hard member into her cunt as she struggled… she was soaking wet, partly because her own excitement, partly because of the seed he'd spilled into her earlier… but she was still tender and the sudden intrusion made her howl out in pain, stiffening in his arms as she was unable to get away…

Again, he did not wait for her to accommodate to the discomfort before thrusting in and out of her roughly, growling with pleasure. She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and snarled, mostly in pain, but partially in pleasure as well… one of his hands was wrapped around her waist, holding her in place, but the other snaked down between them, over her belly and to her burning womanhood, where he once against found the explosive bundle of nerves and started to tease it with his thumb incessantly… she cursed him and swore in every language she knew but he seemed not to hear her, his groans becoming hungrier as he reached the peak of his pleasure…

It was too much… with an aggressive growl he spilled his seed into her again, holding her hard against the wall and it drove her over the edge as she gritted her teeth and arched her back against him, snarling and swearing from a carefully mixed balance of hatred and intense pleasure. As soon as she came on his cock, her heart hammering furiously, panting from lack of breath, a powerful wave of shame hit her with tidal force and Alyra shut her eyes to hide the tears that had massed there.

Imlerith slid out of her and let her drop unceremoniously to the floor, where she collapsed on her hands and knees, completely spent… she did not have the strength to even think anymore… or perhaps it was that she had no desire to face what had just happened. Perhaps this was just too much, even for her…

Vaguely, she saw his shirt and pants drop to the floor as he stripped out of them. She had neither the courage nor the desire to look up at him…

"When you're done wallowing, there's a bath ready next door. I'll send for your potions and you can take what you need to heal." His voice was emotionless again. "But take too long and I may decide to have your brews destroyed instead." He added as an afterthought.

It was enough to make her rise and gingerly follow after him to an adjacent room.

She had been born for battle. Trained to fight right until she hit her limits and then to keep fighting, pushing herself over and beyond what she thought was possible. So she would keep moving. Always forward. Not looking back. This was not the end of her; she would show them! She'd been through hell and back countless times, faced monsters both human and not and had endured, winning not only against them but against herself as well, when despair clung to her skin like stench and she thought she could not take another step forward… she would endure.

She would endure.

(0)

Making this one a tad shorter because I find it ends on the right note.

Don't forget to review!


	9. Old scars and the new

Davs, that he does! Hope you like what I have in store.

Lucy, thank you! I'm trying to make her complex, not just some damsel in distress full of angst. Might be one of the first times I'm hitting the nail on the head, or so I hope. I do like writing her tale and imagine it as I go along, adding things here and there.

Importchic, hope you enjoy this one too!

Bolondka, your comment made me laugh! Don't worry, I won't push past that boundary, but I do like teasing about it.

Kateskates, welcome amongst us! Hope you enjoy the chapter!

(0)

Imlerith slipped into an overlarge stone tub in the adjacent room. The water within was steaming and fragrant, filling the room with warmth and distinctive scent of… was it roses? She wasn't sure. He turned and gestured for her to join him, to which she slowly obliged, climbing gingerly into the stone structure. Meanwhile, a hooded man wearing a dark robe entered the small room through an adjacent door, holding a bundle in his hands and walked towards the tub. Alyra observed him wearily as she slowly lowered her bruised, aching self into the warm waters and slowly tried to relax.

The strange man placed the bundle down near the bath, which she saw to be her pouch of potions and pulled back his hood, revealing a young and handsome, human face underneath, with even skin, slight stubble on the square jaw and a messy mop of dark hair. His grayish eyes crossed hers most briefly and she found she was quite unable to decipher anything in them as he directed his glance at Imlerith.

"Sire, I brought the Aen Seidhe's potions as you asked and had a look at them. They are simple Witcher's brews, but very diluted." His voice was soft and husky, very deep and foreboding. She was immediately reminded of the low rumble one could hear before disturbing a fiend and figured there was probably much mystery surrounding the young man. He did not look like much, but harbored hidden potential. She also wondered when Imlerith had asked this man to check her things… after all, the Aen Elle had been with her the whole time…

"Good. Let her take the one that heals her. Watch the dosage; I'm not about to let her take her life so easily." Imlerith answered with a nod. "And clean her wounds. Apply the salve."

The young man's eyebrows rose ever so imperceptibly. "The one…?"

"Yes. That one." Imlerith dismissed him with a wave of his hand and the young man bowed his head lightly, retreating from the room.

"Nathiel is a mage from your world. He rides with the Hunt and acts as a medic when the need arises." Imlerith explained, even though she had not asked. If he was a mage, telepathy might explain how the elf had been able to ask the human to take a look at her potions. She did not know what to do with that information, but she had to admit that she felt some decent amount of curiosity about the young man… could he be a friend? Or was he a foe? Perhaps it was worth her time to find out… he had not seemed as hostile as Deithren had been.

Alyra was sitting gingerly on her folded legs, letting the water reach only up under her breasts. She kept her bitten arm out, resting it on the edge of the tub as to not get water in the puncture wounds, as she felt the warm air sting the bite mark on her neck and the cut on her face. Every breath was agony and there was massive, throbbing pain radiating through every inch of her body, but she kept a calm, stoic face, hiding just how eager she was to take her Swallow brew.

Nathiel returned shortly with a bowl of liquid, clean cloth and a small container of some sort. He lay it all down on the tube's edge, next to her, along with the pouch that contained her potions and pulled a chair close as to sit by her side. She made no move to take her things, staring at Imlerith, who stared right back, amused and perfectly aware of her internal suffering.

The young mage dipped a silken cloth in the water basin and pressed it gently over the puncture wounds, gathering the clotting blood. She held back a hiss of pain, remaining stiff the whole time Nathiel cleaned the holes in her arm. Only her eyes wavered briefly from the sudden pain. Next, he moved to the bite mark on her neck… he made no comment on it, just dabbed with a fresh cloth until he had cleaned it out enough to his state. Last, he gently pressed his hand against her cheek, tilting her face towards him as to be able to tend to the cut on her face.

She stared into his eyes, fiery green meeting stormy grey and held his gaze without emotion. As he rubbed a bit harder at her cheek to extract the dirt that had clotted in the cut, she felt him try to magically prod into her thoughts… unfortunately for him, the dimeritium band on her arm prevented him from breaching into her mind. Still, she wondered why he had tried to do so. Was it to speak to her, or to pierce her thoughts? Confused, the girl gritted her teeth and looked away as pain radiated sharply from his touch on the filthy wound.

When it was all said and done, the young mage reached for the bottle of salve he'd brought with him, glancing almost imperceptibly at Imlerith.

"This will hurt." He warned her. "It cleans the wound, but will prevent it from healing cleanly, even with your Witcher brews. There will be a scar."

She nodded slowly, understanding why Imlerith had wanted this salve applied, and he reached into the bottle, scooping out a yellowish muck that smelled aggressively of cleanliness and herbs. He layered it evenly over her cut cheek and this time she could not hold back a snarl of pain. Her body tensed as a burning like fire erupted from the wound, bringing sharp tears to her eyes and seeming to spread across her entire face… it seemed it was so horribly painful that if it reached her eyes, she would go blind! Holding back panic, she shifted and allowed Nathiel to spread the muck on her neck bite… which sent tendrils like flames all the way down her back and chest… finally, he did her arm and she dug the nails of her clenched hand into her palm, almost drawing blood.

Alyra had her head bowed, teeth pulled back from the pain and breathing heavily as she tried to focus and calm herself, control the agony…

Nathiel handed her a vial and she took it without looking, vaguely recognizing the Swallow. He was watching her carefully and she knew he would stop her if she tried to drink the whole container, so she did not mess around and took a small sip, which was just enough to help her heal without killing her. At once, she felt it spread like fire through her body, but this time it was not painful… it rushed through her system with every beat of her raging heart, dulling somewhat the anguish of the salve as her open wounds began closing.

The young mage gathered his things and got ready to leave, but Imlerith stopped him.

"Stay. Once the dh'oine has bathed, you'll escort her to a cell and have her fed. She's to be led to the practice arena in the city on the morrow, at first light."

"Of course, sire." The mage bowed his head and simply retreated to the door from which he'd entered, standing next to it and gazing absently at the far wall.

Alyra did not take any more time than she needed, lowering herself a bit more into the water to quickly rub the sweat and dirt from her person in the rose-scented bath, wishing to spend as little time as possible with the general. Incidentally, Imlerith was gazing at her with amused, mocking eyes.

"In a rush?" He sneered. "I'm letting you leave as to not grow bored with you, little bird. Because I will have you again. I'm not quite done with you yet and I'm not just quite ready to let the two others enjoy you as well. I'll see you on the morrow."

She rose, the fire from her wounds receding slowly and bowed most mockingly, stark naked, with fragrant water dripping from her exhausted body.

Without another look at the smirking general, she stepped gingerly out of the tub, the pain between her legs a sore reminder of her terrible day. She walked to Nathiel, who withdrew some sort of light-coloured robe from the folds of his own and handed it to her, barely capable of hiding the glances he was taking of her naked form. She slipped into the soft fabric and held it tight around herself as he led her out of the room and into a cool corridor.

The walked silently through the manse, where a few braziers had been lit to bring light to the stony passages, chasing the chill away somewhat. She caught up with the mage and looked up at him curiously.

"You're from my world." She stated. It was no question, really.

He glanced at her. "Yes."

"And you ride with the Wild Hunt. Actually ride with them." She tried to keep the accusing tone out of her voice; it was hard. She had a million other questions popping up in her mind. Where was he from? How did he become a mage? How old was he? When did he leave their world? Why did he leave their world? But she found she was unable to ask any of them…

"Yes."

She shook her head. "Why?"

He stopped and she stopped next to him. His stormy gaze was far off, lost in thought.

"Because…" He started. "Because it's like that. It's better like that. And if they ever offer you the possibility to ride with them, just take it." His words sent bolts of dread coursing through her entire being as he glanced at her. "You cannot win against Eredin. He will break you to a hundred thousand pieces and it'll hurt like a mother the whole time you're shattering. Just… if they give you the possibility to ride, take it."

Without another word, he set out and had to trot after his fast pace.

She did not ask anything else because she knew he would not answer.

(0)

After eating a small meal of bread, cheese, fruit and a cup of fragrant wine, Alyra spent a long night rolled into a tight ball on a hard cot in a dank cell beneath the manse. She'd been given a fairly warm blanket and it was barely enough to keep the chill at bay as she shivered through the night. However, the Swallow was now working its magic and her body was healing rapidly. It was not long before she gave into exhaustion and spiraled into an agitated sleep filled with nightmares of ghosts long past and horrors yet to come. She twisted, turned and growled but slept through the night, glad to be left alone.

When morning came, she woke slowly and immediately checked her body: the general aches and pains had vanished, her ribs no longer stung with every breath, but the three wounds she'd suffered the day before had scared visibly. The puncture marks left by the hounds were pale dots on her arm and she could feel both the bite mark and slash Imlerith had left behind when she ran cautious fingers over them. Alyra strongly disliked baring these sordid reminders, but she knew she had little choice in the matter… Nathiel came to greet her, bringing her leather clothes and chainmail shirt with him. She noted they had been fixed from the abuse they'd suffered at Imlerith's hands and she was glad of it, thanking him. The young mage nodded wordlessly, handing her the pouch with her potions, each of which she took a quick gulp, refusing the commit the same mistake twice. She noted they were almost completely gone and gave him a questioning look as they walked out of the cell and up into the manse.

"Can you brew Witcher potions?" She asked.

He glanced at her. "I've never tried, but… I do think I have a book on them somewhere in the palace."

"Could you prepare another Swallow and Thunderbolt for me? You'll need some ingredients from our world, but Ge'els told me your herbalists might have them here…"

He shrugged. "You're only delaying your own…"

"Can you or can't you?" She demanded, stopping and grabbing him by an arm to force him to stop with her. Nathiel gently slipped out of her grip, looking at her sadly.

"I can try. I don't know if Imlerith or Eredin will let me give them to you, though. I can ask them."

She nodded. "Thank you."

He started walking again, more slowly this time. "If they let me give them to you, you know it's just because they want to torment you longer, right?"

She growled. "I know. And I don't care." She felt him looking at her curiously. "I grew up fighting. I grew up like I was born to fight for every breath I took. I'm not about to drop to my knees and beg for mercy. Not yet, at least…"

They exited into the front yard, where a horse stood, prepared and saddled for her. Imlerith was already mounted up and ready next to it, staring at her impatiently. Nathiel reached for her hand and gently undid the dimeritium band around her wrist, placing his fingers in an oddly specific manner to have the invisible clasp on the band release. Discreetly, she tried to memorise the movement.

The young mage did not try to prod her mind, even if the dimeritium would no longer block him. Perhaps he was frightened of what he would find within…

Without a word, she climbed up into the saddle of her horse and took up the reigns, turning the beast's head to walk it down the twisty mountain path with the general in tow, leaving the young mage gazing after her thoughtfully.

They rode for the city.

(0)

Surprisingly, today the city was bustling with activity at this very early hour. Alyra rode through the streets at a steady trot, the crowd parting deftly to let her and Imlerith pass without slowing down. The Aen Elle gazes were curious, almost leering, but the girl rode with her head held high, through the dauntless whispers following in her wake like some fluttering birds. Perhaps they knew what was going on between their king, his generals and this Aen Seidhe girl; perhaps they did not… it mattered not to her. She'd lived with whispers at her back her whole life: the opinions and gossip of others mattered not to her. Especially those of beings not even from her world…

For a moment, Alyra considered fleeing: kicking her horse and spurring it onward through the dense crowd, leaping over gutters, clattering down stone steps and perhaps toppling a few elves on their asses… the thought was amusing, at least. But she did not act on it, knowing it was absurd. Besides, where would she go? This was not her realm: she did not know it or know how to survive in it. She was not about to give anyone here the satisfaction of chasing and capturing her, knowing that she had given into her bitter terror and tried to escape her fate like some braying coward.

No, her mind was made up: it was death, pain and misery that awaited her down the path, but she would keep fighting tooth and nail with everything she had until she either perished or she nothing left to give…

And then…

Then she would see…

They reigned up at the stable near the arena and dismounted. Alyra walked off without a look at Imlerith, fury roaring through her veins like fire with every beat of her heart. The general gave his reigns to a stable hand and rushed after her, reaching out to grab her roughly by the arm, his face twisted by discontent at her insulting behavior.

On edge because of the Thunderbolt, she sensed his movement and pivoted lightly out of his reach, her hard, green gaze falling on him wordlessly.

They stared at one another silently for a few seconds, his anger growing proportionally to her defiance.

"Why the rush? In a hurry to go lose to one of us again?" He growled, making no new motion to grab her.

She scoffed and turned away, walking towards the doors that led to the arena without a comment. The girl pushed through them roughly and walked briskly through the corridors, remembering the path they'd taken on their way out the day before. Imlerith was close behind, but made no new attempt to control her. They strode all the way to the arena doors, which were guarded by two soldiers that threw them open at their approach.

Alyra took a few steps into the sandy terrain and stopped, letting Imlerith pass her with an ugly glance, full of the promise of pain, before going to join his king and Caranthir, who stood a ways off, chatting softly.

"Glad to see she'd still alive." Eredin said with a voice that could lead one to believe the contrary, as his general came near.

Imlerith shrugged. "I knew I'd be getting her back today. I'll have plenty of time with her again…"

Alyra withheld a growl as Caranthir scoffed humorlessly.

"I still think it's quite unfair that the previous winner gets a go, especially on the very next day. I makes no sense." The sorcerer shook his head. "Besides, there's no way you're going to get to go first!"

"How about…" Eredin stepped forward, his gaze like glaciers piercing into hers and making her shiver unpleasantly. "We let the half dh'oine chose."

They all turned to stare at her. She remained completely calm, betraying no emotions as inside, she boiled.

"Imlerith." The young woman said softly after just a brief moment of hesitation.

The hungry feeling growing in her heart had nothing to do with desire. She'd not felt that sort of passion often, but she knew to be wary of it: it was harbored by hatred and gave birth to immense, capricious strength, but also recklessness… she'd seen men tear through armies, assisted by this hungry wolf that was loathing, only to fall to the dumbest blow because they had been blinded by what drove them…

It remained to be seen if she'd make the same mistake…

Alyra was handed her two swords and Imlerith took his own blade, an ugly smirk twisting his mouth. There was still a dull, shameful ache between her legs… she embraced it and fed it to the wolf coiling in her belly…

"When I'm done with you, bloede dh'oine, last night will seem a pleasant dream…" He snarled dangerously, moving towards her rapidly.

She slipped one of her swords into her belt to have a hand free.

A long time ago, she'd met a mage on the lengthy, lonely road between her mercenary contracts. They'd spend a fortnight together and he'd discovered, much to her surprise, that she could somewhat draw on the force of magic in the world and, as such, could cast spells. Having no interest in pursuing the interminable and tedious years of studies necessary to become a sorceress, Alyra had simply asked him to teach her some basic things, most of which she still remembered today. He'd warned her that without proper training, the force would sap her energy relentlessly when she used it and, if she used magic too often, her body would eventually become sterile. Afterwards, he'd advised her to learn Witcher signs, which were easier and less exhausting, which she promptly sought out information on and learned to do.

However, right now she was not turning to Witcher signs.

The mage had always told her that the force flowed through all things and could be drawn from the world around her, with hard work and practice. He'd also told her it could be conjured, although very erratically, through intense emotion… such as she was feeling right now…

Imlerith was upon her, his sword raised into a swing, moving like lightning, his amber eyes narrowed in fury…

Alyra folded her fingers into a rapid sequence of movements and she whispered the words to a spell, projecting every inch of her hate into it…

It hit the general like a wall.

He froze in place, his sword just a hair away from cleaving into her side and she held him there, feeling the incredible rush of force course through her entire being. The spell was one to hold a being in place and… and cause extreme pain…

Imlerith was howling, his face contorted from the agony, as within his unmoving body a torrent of fire was unleashed and she was screaming right back, sheer wrath consuming her… she could feel her energy crashing down as the spell devoured it, but she held strong, thinking back on every humiliating, terrifying and painful moment of the past twenty-four hours and letting that fuel the force that was blazing within the general, causing him unthinkable pain…

The girl held on for as long as she could, which felt like the passage of all eternity to her, but was probably just a few brief moments no longer than heartbeats… she held on until she found nothing more within her to feed the spell, until the very moment she thought she would collapse from sheer exhaustion…

And then she folded her fingers into Aard and projected the sign with everything she had left, right up against his chest.

Imlerith went flying back, his breath caught in his throat and Alyra stumbled, feeling as though she had just lifted a mountain.

The general hit the ground hard, tumbling through the sand and she regained her composure, charging forward with a battle howl, taking her second sword out of her belt and raising both into a stance. She was on him in an instant and all he could do was roll aside heavily to avoid her blows, having lost his own blade in his tumble. He tried to grab for her, but she was too fast, spinning out of his reach and pivoting anew with an animal-like snarl, her swords flashing…

Unarmed, he stood no chance… even so, Imlerith moved like lightning, batting one of her swords aside on the flat of the blade with his bare hand, but the other one danced up to him and she hit her mark, cutting into his shoulder and along his back as she pivoted around him deftly, like a dancer would. The girl flipped at once, sliding her exhausted body into a fighter's pose, ready to kill him should he lunge at her.

But he did no such thing. Slowly, dangerously, the general rose to his feet, blood pouring from the wound she'd caused and turned slightly to glance at her.

"This is not over." He promised murderously before walking off with a slight limp.

Alyra felt her knees shake slightly as the Thunderbolt did all it could and more to restore her some strength… but she feared she'd pushed herself much, much too far.

She stumbled… the world appeared out of focus, as if through a tunnel... but she shook her head vigorously and breathed in deeply, regaining her composure somewhat.

Caranthir took an immediate step forward, hunger shining in his eyes, but Eredin grabbed his arm and stopped him, before approaching her himself. She saw the ugly, wolfish look the mage sent his king as he was denied his sure victory against her, but Eredin did not…it allowed her to glimpse just how impatient and potentially cruel the sorcerer was, which did not augur well for her should she fall to him.

"That was some surprising magic, little bird." Eredin said softly, his sword loosely held at his side as he neared her. His voice was akin to the sound of fangs crushing ice and it sent as unpleasant knife down her spine as she focused on him and got ready to defend herself. "You're just full of wonders, aren't you?"

She showed him her teeth in anger, like some animal. She knew she was going to lose: it was written in the stars. She'd gone all out for Imlerith, her absurd fury powering her like a storm and she did not even care: Alyra knew she was just going to lose to one of these whoresons anyways and she was glad she'd been able to give one general his due before going down as a hurricane. There was no more place for fear: there was only hate and resentment… and acceptance.

"I'm the most surprising varh'he you'll ever see, your majesty." She bowed mockingly. "Come closer and see what else I have in store."

Eredin's eyes were coldly amused as he strode forward slowly, surely…

She braced herself, her body on fire from her potions…

His reached her and his sword flashed; she met the blow deftly, moving with years of practice. He pivoted faster than she could imagine and came at her again and she crouched down, out of reach, kicking up sand. Eredin's hands moved on his sword hilt with instinctual grace and he brought the blade down in a rapid arc to catch her as she hunkered by the ground.

Alyra raised one of her blades and met his without hesitation, the contact drawing sparks as she skipped aside, standing anew. The king did not wait, pursuing his assault.

His sword moved fluidly, like an angry wave, but with the speed of a thunder bolt. She had two blades, so she was able to keep her guard up at all times, meeting him blow for blow, twirling out of his reach as the Thunderbolt ignited her body, sending her heart into a frenzy.

The girl howled her fury as it grew anew in her heart.

She pushed her assault, forcing the king to step back. Her swords sung faster, sparking against his blade with new ferocity as he momentarily struggled to parry her, her blows landing hard and true against him. She pivoted on a foot, dancing out of his reach as he tried a jab at her and came anew at him, a scowl deforming her features as she tried to focus, tried to find an opening somewhere in this whirlwind of steel, someplace she could cut him and win this round…

Eredin knew she was exhausted. He did not use magic or teleport away from her because he knew she could probably not even light a candle with Igni at this point. All she had left was her dexterity with a blade and even that was fading fast as exhaustion tore at her muscles and her knees threatened to fold under very weight. So he pursued his attack, cautious all the same. He would not let a rueful mistake cost him victory this time.

She came at him like a demon, eyes alight with fury and he had to admit her technique was admirable: even in her weakened state, he was barely keeping up with the speed at which she swung both of those blades, pirouetting out of reach, parrying and feinting with the grace that only years of hardened practice could evoke. She read his movements as well as he read hers: when she struck, he dodged easily and when he came at her, she slipped out of his reach like a snake.

But she was beat, her Witcher brews unable to supply the strength she needed… there was only so much they could do.

So when he parried one of her blows and quickly swung his blade around to hit her, she raised her arm, but ever so slightly too slow… she blocked him, but at the wrong angle and the blow vibrated painfully through the bones in her arm, forcing her to drop her sword. Her foot slipped as she pushed it back she lost her balance, going down on a knee with a pained cry.

Still, as his sword flashed anew she raised her good arm and met the steel with a growl. Her whole body was wrongly positioned though, and the shock was too powerful for her wrist, through which a bolt of pain struck and she dropped her blade with a scream, her whole arm numb.

Eredin brought his sword around lightning-fast and stopped it right at her exposed neck, the cold blade cutting ever so slightly into her skin. Blood pearled at the wound and ran slowly down her throat.

Alyra was shaking, somewhat from anger but mostly from exhaustion, unable to even find the strength to stand anymore. She fixed her bright green gaze into his ice-cold one and defied him with every shaky breath she took.

Eredin smirked, barely out of breath. "I win, little bird." His voice was low and husky, a terrible warning. "Before anything, I will renew my offer, as it still stands: join me and the Wild Hunt. Join my Riders and your torment will end. Refuse me and you will come to regret it deeply."

She stared at him coldly. Alyra thought of Nathiel and his advice, about how he said she'd better join Eredin as soon as he offered it to her, because it was better that way. She thought back on her terrible night with Imlerith, at the hunger and cruelty in Caranthir's eyes and at the fear that awoke in her heart as Eredin stared at her with those glacier eyes. She tried to think about it, truly consider the offer, but only came up with a blank, hollow feeling of disgust at herself.

She swore in the Elder Speech.

"I'd rather suffer." She snarled, spitting at the ground near his feet and looking right back up at him, insolence burning in her eyes.

The king seemed more amused than disappointed. "Oh, you will, half-dh'oine. But in the end, you will also change your mind."

He reached down for her and she did not resist in the least as he grabbed her by the collar and hauled her up to her feet, while extending a hand and conjuring a portal nearby, which swirled with sickly light and made a sound like the distant strum of thunder, mixed with the deep howl of an angry gale.

He half-dragged, half-carried her towards it and the young woman grabbed onto his arm for support, trying to steady her shaking legs and wondering if she would still be alive come morning.

(0)

Much has happened in this chapter and as much as I love writing lengthy chapters, I'm going to stop here because I feel it's the right place to end.

Just so you guys know, I'm always a chapter ahead; meaning I'm already writing the next one by the time I post this one, just to be sure to keep my writer's block at bay.

As always, I adore reading your reviews, some are just hilarious and make me laugh out loud. It's great to have opinions and I really appreciate them, so don't forget to leave a review! I always answer them at the start of chapters!


	10. Mirror, mirror

WARNING: there will be spoilers for the Hearts of Stone DLC (sorta) and references to it, because I expect people to have played it. If you don't understand who a specific character is, check the wiki.

Lucy, I would love to say that your suspicions are right, but I know myself too well… I sometimes write in a character and obviously expect him to play a certain role but end up completely changing what he does and who he is. So what Nathiel will or will not do for Alyra remains to be seen!

Guest (anonymous), very glad to see that you like what I write! One of my main reasons for writing this story is that I too was unable to find something similar out there. Glad to see people were of an opinion with me!

Bolondka, you're not wrong but you're not right. Thing is, I kind of have an idea where this is all headed and how it's going to end, but truth is it might change along the way because that's how writing happens sometimes. I'm glad you enjoy it nonetheless and truthfully, pretty much anything is a better love story than Twilight XD

Importchic, here you go!

(0)

They stepped through the portal, with Eredin dragging her and she felt her stomach heave unpleasantly as they were thrown through the vast expanse of time and space towards a distant location.

The first thing that hit her, before she could even see or hear, was an oppressing feeling of dread.

Then, as she stepped out of the portal, she at once noted the odd reddish hue of the world around her. Eredin let her go and she gazed up, trying to gather her bearings: it was night and the sky above her was full of stars, none of which she could recognize. The moon shone, unearthly and full, but it seemed alien in this somber sky, casting a frigid light upon the world. Around her rose trees and bushes, through which a milky fog was lazily sneaking and before her appeared a stony path, worn and battered by years of use. The air was full of strange whispers that made her feel unwell and raised the hairs on her arms… wherever they were, it was not a place she wanted to visit for long.

She turned slightly towards the Aen Elle king, wondering what was going to happen now.

He stared at her coolly. "This is a very peculiar place." Eredin said in a soft voice that broke through the still air like the crack of thunder. "It belongs to a being that is even beyond my own grasp… this place has quite the effect on the psyche of creatures left here, twisting their memories and awaking their deepest, darkest terrors… the being who rules here, he feeds on the darkness he causes. And you, lucky little bird, are going to get to stay here for a while."

Horror gripped her heart. Panic threatened to submerge her. A distant feeling was closing in on her: the feeling of being ready to trade every ounce of integrity she had left just to be able to escape the upcoming promise of terror. It was awfully hard, knowing that keeping silence, that refusing to play into Eredin's hands, meant she would inflict unknown distress on herself… every fibre in her body begged for her to give in, to fall on her knees and beg for security, for an end to this torture…

And every other fibre in her being ordered her to clench her jaw shut tightly and stare him right in the eyes without wavering.

Alyra would not fold. Not yet.

Eredin bowed his head mockingly and backed towards his unclosed portal.

"Perhaps I'll even see you again, half-dh'oine with the eyes like green fire." He whispered softly, vanishing from her view and from the world as the portal swirled shut behind him.

Alyra turned away, facing the worn path she had been set on. She had no idea where she was, but she knew she was both exhausted, unarmed and in danger. Knowing she could only presently remedy to one of those three problems, she rummaged through the small pouch at her waist and pulled out the Thunderbolt, taking a tiny swing of it, which caused her stomach to lurch unpleasantly and threaten to empty itself at once… she breathed in deeply, calming herself and felt the nausea pass slowly. She wondered how long she'd still be able to chug the Witcher brews without lasting adverse effects, knowing that even if she was part Aen Seidhe and they were diluted, she could not take them daily much longer…

The girl stared walking. The worn stones were uneven under her feet, but she marched on soundlessly, gently stepping on the ground and keeping a sharp eye out for any movement.

For the longest time, she traveled through the same, unchanging scenery of eerily familiar soft hills covered in low trees and bushes… every now and again, she'd see the distant remains of a destroyed house's stone base and perhaps a toppled shrine, but they all seemed so… similar… she found she had no idea how much time she'd spent here, but instead of being distraught at that notion, she found it started to lull her into losing herself in her thoughts…

Her mind strayed as she walked. She reminisced about her past, swirling through her old memories with surprising clarity. She remembered the keep in Toussaint, where she'd been born and raised for many years… she remembered many of her chance encounters of the road with various personages who taught her a lot of the things she knew… she remembered her mother, gentle creature which lived within Novigrad, at the mercy of evil men… she remembered…

Ahead, a roar broke through the still air with monstrous cruelty, shattering the silence. Alyra's heart nearly leapt out of her chest as she instinctively fell into a battle pose, grabbing for the blades on her hips…

Which were not there, of course…

She'd let them fall in the sand arena in Tir Nà Lia.

Where a moment ago there was nothing but familiar hills and twisted trees, there now stood a crumbling, small barn, harrowed by endless years of neglect. The roar repeated itself from within, angrier this time. She recognized it, because she had heard it once before…. It was a long time ago, many years pass, when her arrogance had almost cost her her life….

Alyra looked around but found no weapon to use: it frightened her, because she knew what lay within the walls of the decrepit barn. The beast within was furious and dangerous and much, much faster than she had anticipated it would be…

She saw claws appear out of the inner darkness of the barn, emerging into the pale light of the moon to grasp slowly at the half-torn door that led into the ruined structure. The paw was grey in color, sickly, and the claws were so sharp they sliced into the rotten wood upon contact… Alyra saw this with frightening precision, her eyes widening as her breath grew short and panic threatened to submerge her…

The beast pushed itself out of the barn and into the soft moon's light with a hungry growl, its shiny red eyes glowing as it stared avidly at her.

Alyra saw only the long muzzle, filled to the brim with teeth as sharp as razors, as it emerged from the darkness, before turning with a swift motion and rushing off in the opposite direction.

Behind her, the striga howled.

The girl's feet hit the ground as fast as she could muster as, behind her, she heard the enraged monster bound out of the collapsing building as it crashed deafeningly around it. Her breath was short in her tight throat as she tore through thorny trees, sharp bushed grasping at her almost like hands… she stood no chance against the striga without a weapon!

She could hear the monster coursing after her and closing in fast, its enraged snarls become steadily louder…

Alyra screamed as she jumped down into an uneven, shallow ravine, the Thunderbolt giving her wings, narrowly avoiding being beheaded by the furious striga as it went sailing over the opening through which she'd slipped. The girl hit the ground with a grunt and kept running without pause, glancing over her shoulder.

The striga had backed up and jumped down into the tight ravine after her and was giving chase: its large body was hitting the sides of the narrow passage every few steps, but that was not slowing it down much. The grayish monster sent rock flying as it tore after her.

Alyra jumped up on the left side of the ravine, digging her fingers into the stone and grabbed some dry roots, pulling herself up through a tight section, back out into the reddish world.

The beast, unable to follow through the tapered stone, howled angrily and ran further off to find a way out of the gulley.

The girl set off once more, running at full speed towards a broken elven structure of some sort a short ways off, figuring she might as well make a stand on higher ground, where she would be better able to see the striga approaching.

The first few steps up the dilapidated structure were intact, allowing her to climb them quickly, before she reached a point where the steps had crumbled completely: she leapt over the gap that had formed and landed on the floor of whatever remained of this forgotten construction…

Behind her, the striga clambered out noisily from the ravine, bellowing.

Before her, laying almost carelessly across the lap of a half-crumbled, seated marble statue of a woman was a sword.

Alyra did not think twice: she rushed to the blade and grasped it deftly, testing the weight in her hand. It shone brightly in the light of the moon, sharp as a razor, reflecting the very stars in the night sky and she understood it was made of silver… she glanced at the pommel and saw a serpentine design ensnaring the place where a hand would normally grasp at the blade. It was a Witcher's blade, no doubt about it.

The girl pivoted as the snarling beast reached the structure. She heard it claw its way up angrily, razor claws tearing into the stone with a sound that made shivers run down her spine. The striga scrambled over the low balustrade that circled the elven construction and faced the girl, baring its mouthful of fangs.

Alyra grasped the sword with both hands, as it was meant to be held, and tried to get used to the excess weight, which she did not have to deal with when using her two small blades. Her heart beat like fury and she held her fear at bay…

"I've killed you before." She growled at the striga as it circled her.

It seemed almost as if the beast was smirking at her…

Many years ago and a world away, she had faced this creature. It had been hiding out in an abandoned barn, just as it was here, in this strange world. It had murdered many villagers in the vicinity and as she'd been passing in the area, the elders of a settlement had hired her to take care of it: in their own words, she was as close to a Witcher as they were like to get in their distant dwelling. Full of arrogance and hoping to show these simpletons that not only Witchers were worthy fighters, Alyra had set out to face the striga…

She'd returned three days later, after an arduous fight with the savage creature that had left her lying, dying on the side of that barn, blood seeping copiously from a wound beneath her armpit, where the beast had easily stroke and tore through her very chainmail with those razor-like claws. She'd been able to finish the monster off by some near miracle before collapsing in the dirt, feeble and ill from her loss of blood.

Alyra owed her life to the last few dregs of a Swallow potion she'd forgotten about in her pouch. Had she not had it, she would have bled to death and would have perished with her heart filled to the brim with shame and regret.

She learned from her mistakes that day and, even though the memory of that fight haunted her nightmares, she knew not to underestimate her foes and let conceit blind her.

The striga leapt.

It crossed the few yards that separated them in a single, powerful bound, jaws wide open and snapping, every claw extended and glistening as they plunged towards her heart…

Alyra tensed, lips pulled back in a snarl.

The beast was upon her and before it had a time to even brush up against her skin, she pivoted like a tiny bolt of lightning, evading it.

The striga sailed past her. Alyra pirouetted again, using the heavy Witcher's blade as a counter-weight as she brought it around in a large arc, screaming, slipping her hands over the handle as to bring it down upon the disoriented beast.

The blade came in contact with the monster and it vanished into a puff of smoke.

Alyra struggled to regain her footing as the sword sailed through thin air and surprise painted itself on her face.

She recovered her balance and raised the sword high, glancing around herself rapidly, searching for the striga, wondering what had just happened…

But there was nothing but silence and the distant, creepy whispers riding on the wind.

The girl slowed her raging heart and began breathing normally, utterly confused… but she remembered what Eredin had said when he'd left her here and she was starting to get an idea of what was gong on…

This was no ordinary world… at least not like the one she had lived in her whole life, or even like the dying, dried up one Eredin had showed her during their first fight. She had a feeling this world was somehow… constructed… as if it was built by the being the Aen Elle king had told her about. What surrounded her was real and also not real and she was starting to get the feeling that it truly was analysing her, conjuring up her doubts and fears…

That was not good. Why had Eredin dropped her off here, of all places? He could have done to her what Imlerith did: humiliate, rape and hurt her both physically and mentally in hopes she'd snap. He could have done anything and he had chosen to bring her here.

Why?

To let her wallow in her own terror for an indefinite amount of time? To learn what made her tick? To face off against the owner of this strange world? Did the king had contact with that being, did they have a deal of some sort?

Alyra was weary, but curious.

She glanced down at the Witcher sword she was still holding loosely at her side, examining the intricate handle. The thing she'd always liked most about these swords was the work that went into decorating them not just with magical runes, but often with the insignias of the schools of the Witchers to whom they belonged. This one was adorned with a coiling snake that held the cross guard and part of the handle in its twisting, shiny body, the open-mouthed head being the pommel, full of tiny metal fangs that caught the moon's sickly light.

"School of the Viper… strange coincidence…" The young woman whispered, twisting the blade as to let the pale light reflect all over the coiled reptile.

She remembered a certain Witcher from the school of the Viper…

They'd met amidst a large bandit raid. She'd been hired to defend a village from hooligans and had found herself overwhelmed by the sheer amount of rogue thieves that had banded together to raid the area… the villagers had failed to mention just how many bandits rode in that peculiar gang and she had found out the hard way what that number was: too many.

The Witcher had burst through their ranks like a mountain, his steel sword ringing through the air faster than anything she'd ever seen. Just in time too, because she'd gone down on one knee, a crossbow bolt piercing her thigh as she tried weakly to defend herself against a charging, howling bandit.

The Witcher cleaved him in half with a blow so powerful it left her speechless.

He was built like a bull, easily large as two men side by side, with arms like the trunks of young trees and tall enough that she wondered for a moment if he was not part giant. And yet he moved with unmistakable grace and speed, betraying years of hard training and an inhuman lineage. There was no mistaking his eyes with pupils like a cat's.

She remembered the moment as she stumbled up and joined him to fight, seeing he was fighting on her side. Screaming, she twisted deftly and used one of her blades to deflect a flying arrow that had been aimed right at the giant, bald Witcher.

He glanced at her, expressionless. "Haven't seen _that_ often."

She'd given him a rueful smirk. "Stick around and I'll show you plenty more."

He'd sneered and they kept on fighting until all the bandits were either dead or fled. She thought he'd leave once the fighting was done, but he stayed behind and started tending her wound, noticing how rapidly the blood was flowing out of her leg. He'd been the one to teach her how to brew the Swallow after learning she was half Aen Seidhe and willing to try using it to help her body. They'd spent several weeks together afterwards and she had greatly enjoyed the company of this taciturn, threatening beast of a man that was more gentle and nimble than his physique could ever let on.

He'd been the first Witcher she spent time with and she'd learned more than just potion brewing from him: he's taught her a great deal about all sorts of monsters, their weaknesses and strengths, as well as several combat techniques usually reserved only for his kind. Alyra hadn't believed him at first when he told her he was of the School of the Viper, as he looked like he would belong more in Bear. But his absolutely unearthly grace soon made her change her mind, along with the twisting medallion representing a snake that lay from a chain upon his chest.

The girl shook her head, escaping her reverie and glanced up, blinking.

Before her stood the Witcher she'd reminisced about.

"Letho…" Alyra whispered, grasping the sword more vigorously, unsure.

His eyes fell on the motion and the corner of his mouth twitched up ever so slightly.

"I'm not here to fight you." He said in that deep voice of his, like the growling rumble of a distant earthquake.

She frowned. "Then why are you here?"

He did not answer, only turned, glancing over his shoulder as if to invite her to follow him. Hesitating for the briefest moment, she did, still carrying the sword. She felt safer with it hand, even if she wasn't quite used to its heaviness.

They dismounted from the crumbling elven structure and walked a bit through the strange, reddish world, with her at his side. It felt like the good old times she'd spend with him, a little while back, before they'd parted ways. She'd always liked Letho: he was stable, strong and silent… everything she wanted from a man and more… and he'd been quite the passionate lover, considering Witchers were supposed to be devoid of all feelings. They'd spent many a night, and day, just enjoying one another…

Alyra did not blush, only smile at the memory. But she understood why her thoughts were coursing in that direction: this world was trying to lull her into forgetting that this Letho was not real…

"I know, you know." She said gently, stopping and placing a hand on his big arm to stop him with her.

"Know what?"

"That you're not real. You're not Letho."

He turned lightly towards her, raising a hand slowly to touch her face and she let him. His fingers were hard and calloused, just as they had always really been, and his touch was infinitely more delicate and tender than his hands could have let on.

"Does it matter?"

She sighed, shrugging. "I don't know… I… I don't know what this place is, or what you are, or what I should even be doing… I wish you were the real Letho, I kind of miss him…"

She stopped talking, refusing to confide in this spectre. She had to remember that he was just a construct of this world, nothing more than illusion…

But it was so hard to do that as his gentle fingers ran from her jaw and into her hair, light and kind. She'd really enjoyed the few weeks she'd spent with the giant Witcher: she would not have called it love, because neither of them had the emotional palette or time for such an ordeal, but there had blossomed a… a mutual enjoyment, of sorts. They'd met up a few times again over the years, sometimes out of chance, other times because they sought one another out. Until he'd vanished from known existence recently… he'd last contacted her to mention he was undertaking a very perilous contract, of which he would disclose no detail, before becoming one with the void of the world, seemingly impossible to find.

It had hurt, not knowing what he'd become. Had he died? Succeeded in his undertaking? What had become of Letho of Gulet, that mountain of a viper that had flashed through her existence like a burning flame?

Perhaps all that mattered now was that she had _this_ Letho…

He bent down towards her, being much too tall for her and cupped her face tenderly to pull her into a kiss. She shut her eyes and moved towards him. Their lips met like two hungry sparks and she dug her fingers into his huge arms, loving the warmth of his mouth on hers… an altogether different fire awoke between her legs and her kiss became deeper, more passionate.

Out of breath, Alyra pulled back with a soft smile, opening her eyes to gaze into his.

But instead of finding a cat-like gaze of yellow, she was met with the cold, amber eyes of someone else…

Imlerith was smirking at her, his hand suddenly hard and unyielding in her hair, where just a moment ago there had been tenderness.

"I knew you'd learn to love fucking me, dh'oine whore." The general hissed, amused cruelly as she cried out in confusion, pain and panic.

Without thinking any further, the young woman thrust her still-clenched blade at the smirking Aen Elle, aiming to pierce his midsection, but met no resistance as he simply vanished into a puff of dark smoke as the striga had, his twisted grin burning into her mind's eye to remain there even after he had disappeared.

He was gone, but the damage he'd done was not: feeling terrible disgust at herself, Alyra fell on all fours, retching and gasping for air, torn between exhaustion, despair and confusion. She felt hatred and disappointment at herself for having given into this cruel game and having been played so very easily… she knew this was all an illusion, damnit! How could she have been so weak?

The girl glanced up, expecting to still be in the barren, red world, but found herself smack in the middle of a Novigrad street, staring at the entrance to a very familiar square. She stumbled up as faceless people not unlike specters walked past her, whispering too low for her to hear what they said, pushing past her with fingers like ice.

Coming from the Hierarch square she could hear the loud, howling voice of a herald screaming some message as a crowd massed in front of him.

"… and whosoever shall be seen dealing with inhumans shall be burned at the stake alongside them…"

She stumbled forward, hand still holding the Viper sword, into the square. The crowd in front of the herald was dense and she had to struggle past it, pushing ghostly beings aside… every time she touched one, it felt like touching a glacier.

There was a mounting feeling of distress rising in the back of her throat like bile, compressing her chest all the while. It felt as though there was no more air around her, as though something as big as a stampeding fiend was closing in on her rapidly, from an unseen direction.

The herald was still shouting.

"… be known that all witches, sorcerers, be they human or elven, will be burned at the stake alongside all inhumans, be they half-bred or pure…"

She pushed past the first line of spectral people in the crowd and nearly fell as she suddenly met no more resistance… she was shivering, but not just from the cold contact of the illusions…

Alyra looked ahead at the burning stake and let out an anguished howl of horror as she saw who burned on it.

"FAMAU! No!" She felt her knees buckle beneath her but staggered to stay upright, tears of pain and anger flooding her sight. "Mother!"

Alyra did not think, she folded her fingers into Aard and projected the wave at the bottom of the brazier, dousing the flames and sending the charred logs flying up against the building behind the pyre. There were shouts around her but she ignored them all, rushing forward to clamber onto the still hot, blackened platform upon which, tied to a thick upright log, slumped an unmistakable woman, her wrists chafed by the rope that bound her…

Her clothes, which Alyra knew to have been delicately embroidered in motifs of nature, had burned away to ash. Most of her body had been ravaged by the flames, the skin sloughing off like melted candle wax, revealing the muscles underneath and all of her thick, curly hair as black as jet had been seared away to reveal a naked head, blackened by soot. The one thing that had not been damaged was the necklace she wore, made from a chain of meteorite ore and set with a tiger's eye stone, for luck, which Alyra had given her many, many years ago in the vain hope of keeping her safe…

The young girl dared not touch the woman, from fear of seeing her crumble to dust before her.

"Mother…" She gasped for air, chocking on her sobs as tears streamed down her face, unstoppable. "Eliaine… no… please, no… mother…"

She reached out, but stopped her movement, consumed by the swirling agony that threatened to devour her as the flames had her mother.

The Aen Seidhe seamstress of Novigrad known as Eliaine, burned at the stake for being inhuman, mother to a half-blood elf, suddenly jerked morbidly and stood up straight. The howl that escaped Alyra's mouth was a whole new level of despair as the animated corpse straightened its head with sickly twitches and planted her burned, consumed eyes upon her daughter.

"This is your fault…" She rasped ghoulishly, her ravaged mouth moving like something out of a nightmare.

"No!"

The girl wailed, backing up until her feet touched nothing but air and she went sailing backwards, landing harshly onto the stone square below, bruising her back. Her eyes never left the animated ghoul that was her mother and the creature's eyes never left hers…

"This is your fault!" It repeated, screaming this time. "You left me here! You left me with these monsters in skins of men and you left me to burn! How could you?!"

"No, no, no! I didn't… I always… I couldn't… I told you…"

The corpse laughed humorlessly and it sounded like ravens croaking.

"I died because of you. I burned because of you!"

"No, no, no…" Alyra curled up on herself, hiding her face from the accusing monster as if it could protect her, as if it could make the pain stop… she shut her eyes and covered her ears but she could still hear the corpse, screaming with her mother's voice, its words penetrating her heart like icy spears…

"You killed me, Alyrethielle."

Alyra let out an anguished howl and suddenly, everything stopped.

She was alone in the silence, panting heavily and sobbing, curled up on the hard ground. For the longest time, she did not want to move, did not want to get up… as if laying there would protect her from any further illusions, from the rest of the pain in store for her…

For the first time since she'd been dumped in this hell, she wondered just how long she would be a prisoner here and if she'd be able to make it through this ordeal. With what had just happened, she really, truly wondered if this was not going to be too much, even for her… was she going to shatter here? Would this place be the end of her?

Alyra even, for the briefest moment, asked herself if she should not have just accepted Eredin's offer to ride at his side… but that though vanished as soon as it appeared and she rose slowly, gingerly, wiping her face with a hand to erase the tears that had stained it. She no longer felt confident in her ability to survive whatever was thrown at her, but she knew she was still a while from reaching her limit. She could do this… she had to.

She had to remember that this horribly realistic place was chock-full of illusions and that they were not real, no matter how real they might seem…

Sadly, she no longer had the Viper blade. She must had dropped it when she pushed through the crown and to her mother's burning pyre…

Shaking the image from her head, the girl turned on herself, anew in the reddish world. At once, she felt she was not alone. The trees around her grew morbidly, reaching for the sky and became so dense they let through almost no light. Strangely, they were no longer mangy, scratchy things but rather tall pines and full oaks, dark and menacing. Alyra kept turning on herself, a feeling of anxiousness gnawing at her as she tried to pierce the shadows, searching for… for what? She did not know, but there was something here with her and she had to be afraid of it! She remembered this… these trees, this clearing… there was a stream nearby, she could hear it even though she could not see it… they were out hunting and she…

She'd followed one of her father's soldiers who told her he'd spied a fawn in the thicket during the pause in their hunt…

Where, just a second ago there was nothing right next to her, now there stood a tall, armored man with a gaze as hard as stone. This was a memory and she knew exactly what was going to happen, but she was frozen next to him, paralyzed and unable to act…

She saw him reach for her slowly with this mailed hand, his other hand grasping a sharp hunting knife at his side, which he pulled slowly from its scabbard. She saw everything in excruciating detail, incredibly aware of every tiny aspect of what she was seeing, as though she could simultaneously focus on absolutely everything around her. She knew who he was: he was the hired killer her father's wife had taken into her service to get rid of her… he was there to end her life, to butcher her like some animal…

Alyra twisted out of his grasp nimbly, but just a moment too late: his razor-sharp knife flashed towards her, catching her on the cheek and drawing a long line of fire along her face, neck and all the way to her shoulder.

She was screaming in terror as the soldier tried to grab her anew, tried to finish what he had started…

Suddenly, just like that, the clearing was gone, he was gone and she was panting again, hands rapidly running up and down her face and the long, ugly scar that had been left there by that encounter…

"This has to stop…" She mumbled, rushing off along the stone path in the reddish world, stumbling as she went. "This has to stop…"

She heard a resonating neigh to her left and glanced, her panicked gaze landing on a very familiar piebald gelding that stood nearby, pawing at the ground impatiently, saddled and ready to ride. A sound somewhere between a sob and a distraught moan escaped her lips as she recognized her beloved mount…

"Oxon…" Alyra felt new tears threaten her eyes. ""Oxon, no… no I know you're dead… I remember you dying… you're in Velen, you're not here… Oh, Ox…"

She stumbled towards him nonetheless, hands extended as she reached for his warm muzzle, pressing her palms to his soft fur and pulling her arms around his neck to hug this beast that had traveled through hell and high water by her side for several years… she felt him wrench out of her grasp and she cried out, looking up as he reared, screaming, a spell devouring him as he kicked his front legs wildly, howling from the pain…

The great horse collapsed into a heap on the ground and became naught but bones and rotten flesh, raven pecking out his innards as she backed away, tripping over rocks. The ravens turned their beady eyes to her, their beaks shiny with blood and bits of meat and took flight with an angry caw, aiming their piercing talons at her face…

There was a sudden, sharp sound like the clap of two hands together and it tore through the world with deafening resonance, silencing everything, even the whispers on the wind. Alyra looked up and saw that the flying ravens were frozen mid-flight, angry eyes still fixed on her, where she had fallen square on her ass. Slowly, she rose to her feet, eyes straying from the unmoving birds to look around and find the source of the clap. She did not have to look far: to her right, just a few yards away stood a man, leaning casually against one of the mangy trees with his arms crossed over his chest and an amused smirk playing on his lips, his very dark and terribly dangerous gaze fixed curiously on her.

"I'm away for less than a day and already I have a little bird trapped in my world…" His voice was soft and amiable, but she sensed an undertone that promised he was an extremely dangerous being. Alyra immediately feared him more than Eredin. "How is it you strayed here, lovely little thing?"

She swayed slowly on her shaky legs, wondering briefly if he was just another illusion… but somehow, she knew he was not. So far she'd only seen things and people that she knew, with which she was familiar… and she had never seen this man before. Besides, there was something about him… something that made him terribly real, much more so than any of the apparitions she'd seen so far.

And yet he looked so very ordinary… hair cropped was so short it was as though he was bald, dressed in simple linen and leather clothes with no jewels, adornments or visible weapons… then why could she not shake the feeling he was not to be trifled with?

"Because that feeling is right, lovely girl." He said, answering her unspoken question. Her stomach constricted painfully when she understood he could read minds. "I'll skip to the introductions then, Alyra, known as Alyrethielle Eatebleidd, song of the summer wolf, because I find it awfully unfair that I should know your name and not you mine. I am Gaunter O'Dimm, merchant of mirrors, at your service."

The man bowed lightly, his gaze never leaving hers and she curtsied awkwardly in response, in a daze.

"Pleasure…" She rasped before clearing her throat somewhat. Gaunter smiled an enigmatic smile.

"That we shall see. Now… tell me how it is you stumbled into this realm?"

"E… Eredin, he… he opened a port-…"

Gaunter raised a hand, scowling. "No more. I understand. That sorry excuse for a king thinks he can drop off whatever he pleases here whenever he so wants… he and I are going to have to have us a little chat. Unless…" He gazed at her more intently, frowning. Alyra was assaulted by a feeling of vertigo, as though she was staring straight down into a gorge so deep she could not see the bottom. "Unless you and I can work out a little deal that would benefit the two of us. Hm? What say you, Summer Wolf?"

She gaped at him like some fish, her mouth working wordlessly for a few seconds before she found her voice again. "What? I don't… I don't understand. Who are you? What are you? Where am I? What the fuck is going on?"

Maybe this was just another torment, meant to drive her over the edge… she did not know anymore…

The strange man had a look that indicated he was losing his patience. "I am Gaunter O'Dimm, as I told you. Don't play the dim-wit; you are a clever girl and Witcher-taught to boot: you can work out the rest."

She swallowed heavily. "Alright… alright…" Her voice was shaky. "So… Gaunter… I get I'm in another world, in your world… but I don't get _what_ you are… you're clearly no ordinary merchant of mirrors… are you a mage?"

He laughed heartily at her comment, as though she'd made a famous joke. His smile never reached his eyes and she found it was making her hairs stand on end.

"Don't be silly." He shook his head. "I'm no mage and you know it, just as I am no simple merchant of mirrors. Deep down, in the confines of your little, fragile being, where you hide all your deepest, darkest fears and desires, you know exactly what I am. However, if you so choose to prod at that knowledge, you will find that what Imlerith did to you last night was pure bliss compared to what _I_ will do to you."

Alyra knew he was not kidding. The ravenous darkness in his eyes promised her that.

"You spoke of a deal…" She chanced slowly, changing the subject. "Can you help me get back to my world?"

"Is that what you want? Truly want?" Gaunter asked eagerly and she felt uneasy.

"Yes." She said after a brief moment of hesitation. "Yes. I want to go back to my world. I want to be free of Eredin, Imlerith and Caranthir and return to my world."

The strange man moved away from the tree against which he'd been leaning, striding casually towards her with an extended hand. Gingerly, she took it to shake it, expecting his skin to be freezing cold but finding it surprisingly warm to the touch.

"What do I have to do in exchange?" She asked cautiously, trying to pull her hand away. It was locked in his iron-like grip, however, and she stopped struggling, knowing very well she would not be able to break free until he himself decided to let her go. His dark gaze sunk into hers and she felt almost hypnotized by it…

"You will go back to Eredin and keep resisting him and his two lackeys." Gaunter ordered in a strange, frightening voice. "When the times comes, I will come to you and tell you to do certain things. Do those things and you will be able to go back to your world."

"I…" Alyra swallowed heavily, her mouth full of cotton. "Can't you just send me back? Now?"

Again, the man chuckled, but his eyes remained as cold as snow. "No, little wolf. There are certain events that must unfold before I can interfere with them, and if I let you go back now, they might play out very differently. You will do as you're told and help me speed them along so that this chain of events happens exactly as it is supposed to. Afterwards, you will get what you desire… but only if you obey me, is that understood?"

She nodded vapidly.

"Good girl. I know you want the torment to end, but sadly there is no easy way out of anything, no black or white in this world, or in any world for that matter and I can only say this: you must endure through the path laid out for you because you have become entwined in something much bigger than yourself… something beyond even my touch… something that has been in the making for many, many years and is finally coming to a close. As such, you must endure, or perish in the attempt…

"Because the world… well, it's all just shades of grey."

(0)

Roll credits! Just kidding (if you watch Cinema Sins on YouTube you might get that reference). I hope you like the more complex path this story is taking; I know I'm having loads of fun writing it. It's crazy how a chapter can elaborate itself into something… I started this with the idea that she should meet Gaunter in this weird world we saw in the Hearts of Stone DLC and knew I wanted her to rummage through some painful memories… the only one I could think of putting her through was the fear of losing her mother and the others just… came along. Hadn't planned to have her meet Letho, but that also kind of happened, and to be honest, I have a thing for guys with huge arms, so I enjoyed writing that too!

Please comment in your reviews!


	11. On the wall

NOTE: Alyra's mother's name is a play on the name of a friend I lost a few years ago to suicide. I just wanted to mention it, because she passed away on June 11th and as I'm working on this chapter, that date comes and goes by. I miss you, Eliane. I always will. But I won't forget you. And I'm sorry I wasn't there.

Importchic, glad to have surprised you and you're right: this if where the story starts to weave into a more complex one.

Lucy, I'm so glad you enjoyed it that much! It was a lot of fun writing and having to come up with new ideas as I went along. I must admit, I am pleased with myself at how I put in some exposition in there. I tend to explain everything too fast just to get it out there so I'm glad I forced myself to wait out on certain details and present them like this, because you enjoyed it!

Bolondka, you really should try the expansion and if you cannot, read a synopsis of it. Gaunter is a very creepy character and sorry if I don't explain him, assuming people know him, but do at least check the wiki. It'll perhaps help you understand him better.

Kateskates, WE know better. SHE doesn't. Wonder how that'll play out for her in the end…

Davs, thank you!

(0)

 _All just shades of grey… in a world perishing to the White Frost… you've heard Ithilinne's prophecy, surely? Of course you have, you're Aen Seidhe: you've all heard of the famous prophetess that promised the world would fall to ice as an avenger would be born to bring the new world into light from the flames of the Elder Blood… well, there are those, such as that cunningly blind king of the Wild Hunt, which believe that the promised flames will sprout from his line, should he be able to harness the power of the Elder Blood._

 _So he searches. He harries the confines of the worlds for what he thinks he needs. For a way to bring the seed of the Elder Blood to him, to bend it to his will, thinking that from it he will be able to sire a warrior of powers unimaginable._

 _Little does he knew, overzealous fool that he is, that that seed has already grown._

 _And yet he will never see it. He is too encompassed by what he thinks he has to do. He will bring to ruin the only thing that might harness the power to destroy the danger that threatens every world in existence. Because that seeds needs to be nurtured, not harrowed, in order to become the flame we need to melt the ice._

 _As for our dear king, for the reward he thinks he is due, he will doom every. Single. World._

 _But we won't let him do that, won't we, Summer Wolf?_

 _I cannot interfere with the Elder Blood, it is a power beyond my touch._

 _But I can see the chain of events that is about to unfold._

 _And I can see what needs to be done, those minute details that need to develop, in order for Ithilinne's prophecy to become true and the destruction of the worlds be stopped._

 _Because what fun will I have if all is void and ice?_

 _And you, little Wolf, will be the one to make sure things happen in such a manner that the Elder Blood will do what must be done and face its destiny._

 _And then, you will get to go back to your world._

 _Just as you asked._

 _Just… as you asked._

(0)

His words rang in her ears for a long time after he had spoken them, and after he was gone. She did not quite understand them, even if she had before heard of Ithilinne's prophecy, but she did not think it mattered. What mattered was that if this odd being could be trusted, she had her ticket out of this hell. It would take time and she would suffer, but now she knew there would be an end to her pain, if only she could endure… she had something to hold on to. After ending his speech, Gaunter had left her in this world to await Eredin's return. He instructed her to continue resisting the king's offer to join the Hunt and endure whatever he and his generals threw at her, until she hit a moment when she could not refuse him anymore. He was adamant that she do this, or it things would not process in a manner such that would allow her to return to her world, so she asked him just when this moment would come and how she would be sure it was time to accept. Gaunter smiled an eerie, enigmatic smile and assured her she couldn't be mistaken: at that moment, she would have no other choice but to accept.… So he left her in this world, promising her the king would come for her sooner rather than later, expecting to find her a broken, weeping mess of a being…

 _We shouldn't disappoint him, should we? But then again, if you're shattered to pieces, you won't be much use to me, will you? Tell you what, Summer Wolf: I'll go easy on you. The vision you'll see won't be half as bad as what you've already seen… but mention our encounter to Eredin and I'll drag you back here screaming and your burning mother will be the very least of your horrors._

So the night dragged on, both brutally long and distraughtly short in this place where time seemingly made little to no sense.

Alyra was visited by visions again, but this time, they were more saddening than terrifying. She saw her father's wife as she gazed at her from a tower window in the keep where she grew up, her face contorted with hate. She'd only been a child back then, but that look had haunted her for years in her dreams, as she felt unexplainably guilty at causing this person so much pain… it was only later, much later, as she became a grown woman, that she had understood what her and her mother's presence at that keep had meant for her father's wife…

She then saw a face she never thought she'd see again: that of a young woman, a lone mercenary just like her, who she'd met per chance on her travels. The young human girl had been a monster hunter, just like she was, exceptionally well-taught in the art of Witcher combat from the school of Bear. She was exceptional not just by her agility, endurance and fighting style, but by the fact that she had a full-grown royal wyvern as a companion… Alyra had used the word 'pet' at first to describe the ferocious reptile, but the young woman had been nearly offended by the term, explaining that she'd raised the wyvern from an egg and they formed a team that moved like a single unit, through a bond she could not even explain… Alyra had seen the truth of it as they broached a massive endrega nest, which had been the target of the contract they both found themselves working on. She'd been impressed by the girl's combat and by how, absolutely wordlessly, she moved as one with the wyvern to decimate the beasts.

They had parted ways after splitting the bounty and Alyra had always regretted not getting to know the young woman better. They seemed terribly akin, both the product of a hard, cruel life, both fighting to find their rightful place in this terrible world.

Her sadness deepened as the memory returned to her.

She saw her mother again, but this time she was not burning. She was simply sitting, alone in her little Novigrad home, staring out her grimy window with a look of hollow worry etched into the lines of her face. Her hands were twisted together tightly, nervously, as she scowled and sighed, getting up and pacing, before sitting down restlessly anew. Alyra understood that she was worried about her daughter… she hadn't seen her in a long time, had had no news of her only child… was she hurt? Was she dead? Had she finally fallen prey to monsters, human or inhuman, that had been stronger than her? It seemed that Eliaine looked much, much older than before… had worry caused those deep lines around her mouth and at the corner of her eyes? Had she caused this to her mother?

She saw Letho, hanging on a rope around his neck, his cat eyes empty and glossed over by death, while a crowd below him cheered and screamed…

She saw Oxon laying on his side, unmoving, in those damp Velen marshes as, high above, vultures circled and screamed and necrophages scuttled closer, screeching in their rabid hunger…

Alyra was sitting, limp and propped up against one of the jagged trees of this cruel, red world, staring ahead with empty eyes as heavy tears rolled down her cheeks and fell soundlessly into her lap. The wind was blowing gently, carrying eerie whispers and the moon was still shining, unmoving in the sky, as she cried silently and stared on ahead…

There were footsteps but she did not know if they were real.

What was real? Were the visions truth or lies?

She did not know. She feared to know.

Someone kneeled next to her and she felt a gentle hand brush softly against her hair, smoothing it.

"Poor little bird. You've not been treated kindly…" That voice… it was a voice like the clawing of nails on ice, but somehow it was not… it was not so cold anymore. It did not send shivers down her spine. It was kind, tender…

She pressed her head gently into the fingers that stroked her hair, seeking the softness there. More tears ran down her cheeks. Oh, how she longed for kindness!

Her reddened, tear-sodden eyes rose slowly, painfully, to plunge into the white, glacier gaze of Eredin Bréacc Glas, king of the Aen Elle and leader of the Wild Hunt… she found no words, no clever remark to snarl back at him… Alyra found she did not have the strength to speak.

She found she did not have the strength to stand… no strength to do anything anymore… she did not want to fight… she… she

She tore her green gaze from his and looked onward, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks heavily, betraying her distress.

Alyra expected the king to laugh, to mock her; she expected to be hit, or hurt, or maimed…

Instead, she felt him slip a powerful arm beneath her legs and another behind her back, pressing her body against his as he slowly lifted her into his arms as though she weighted nothing at all… she did not struggle in the least… she had no strength left for that…

Was this real?

Was this another illusion?

She did not know… she felt dazed, unsure, and wondered vaguely if Gaunter had anything to do with this sensation…

Eredin carried her back towards the portal that had brought him here and they crossed it with her held safely in his arms, limp and shell-shocked, her heart ravaged, torn to pieces, and her mind a blank howl of agony.

(0)

The crossing into another world sent a familiar sensation of dizziness and unbalance through her being as they entered a warm, dim room. Alyra took in her surroundings emptily, noting they were in a huge bedroom, the ceilings high, with all the walls, columns and floors made of intricate stone. By the way the rock was worked, she easily guessed it was elven and simply concluded he must have brought her back to Tir Nà Lia because it looked so much like the bedroom where Imlerith had brought her the day before… had it been the day before? How much time had passed?

It felt like eternity to her, but she had no idea…

Eredin laid her down most gently on a large, soft bed, on a thick mattress stuffed with goose down. She felt furs beneath her hands as they laid by her side, limply open and unmoving. She stared up emptily at the high ceiling, lost in the geometric workings in the stone as her mind buzzed emptily, devoid of all thought. The king sat down next to her, his glacier gaze trained on her as she avoided it, and ran a gentle hand over the side of her face, which was now marred by the cut left by Imlerith… his fingers traced the healed scar and she let him, the void within her feasting on the unexpected kindness in his motion.

She'd fought so long, so hard… all her life she'd fought. She'd known so few moments of respite…

Was this it? Had she reached the end? The limit of what she could take?

Even if she was at wit's end, she knew she had to… had to keep fighting… Gaunter had ordered her to resist, to struggle… she had to…

Feeling as though her body no longer belonged to her, she raised a slow hand to touch Eredin's, which was still stroking her face. She wanted to push it away, but somehow found herself pressing it harder against her face, yearning for the touch, Her gaze slipped away from the ceiling and lost itself in the icy storm of his and she felt her whole being bend under that look… Slowly, she raised herself on her elbows, nearing his face, never leaving his gaze. Eredin watched her move, a light smirk playing with his lips, before he slipped a hand behind her head and pulled her closer, closer, until their lips met like two sparks of lightning… it felt like a dream to her… she knew, somewhere within the confines of her being, that this should be a nightmare… but it was as though that reality was unable to surface.

His hands found the clasps that held her chainmail shirt in place and deftly undid it as though he had done it a hundred times before, his mouth never leaving hers. He slipped it off her body and tackled the boiled leather cuirass and linen shirt beneath, removing both with easy motions as gentle and light as feathers, as her own fingers somehow skittered down his chest and undid the leather ties of his own shirt, never stumbling in their haste. She slid the clothing from his body, her numb fingers finding the cool skin beneath hungrily, her broken, dirty nails drawing lines of fire along his arms and back.

Eredin's mouth left hers suddenly and she held back a soft moan of longing as he grabbed her by the hips with strong arms and pushed her further on the bed, forcing her to lay down. His hands strayed from beneath her to the leather ties that held up her pants, which he undid slowly, gently, never letting his glacier eyes drop her hers. Her heart beat in her chest like thunder and she found herself searching for air, as though there was none in the room…

Somewhere in the confines of her soul, she remembered how that look of his had sent shivers of fear and disgust down her spine, but she could somehow not find that memory, not now…

He slipped her pants from her curves with soft, teasing motions and she let him, biting at her lip without even realizing it. Alyra found herself laying naked and wanton amidst the furs on the giant bed, breathing with a slight pant as she eagerly awaited what was to come next… her need for respite had led her from answering to his unexpected kindness, to longing for his cool, gentle touch…

Eredin lowered himself slowly down to her legs, which he spread slowly with an unyielding hand, smirking pleasantly as his glacier gaze sparkled with hunger and amusement… she found that that look was awakening quite a fire in her belly…

The feather-light kisses he planted along the inside of her thighs left a feeling like burning in their stead as her breath quickened and she groaned slightly, loving the gentle, warm feel of his mouth on her skin.

The kiss he planted on her longing cunt made her pull back her head and howl.

His tongue slipped into the hungry folds of her womanhood and she shuddered from the pleasure as he deftly found his way to the most delicate places, kissing, biting and teasing her as she cried out loudly, his name escaping her lips before she could even think… her hands rushed down to grab his hair as black as jet, gently but fiercely, as he made her pleasure mount steadily with a dexterous mouth, until… until she could no longer…

Eredin stopped suddenly as she let out a frustrated cry and he moved slowly up towards her. She immediately led her hands fly down to his pants, not even thinking, untying them clumsily in her haste to pull them off. He slipped powerful arms beneath her body and brought her up against him as she herself grabbed his erect manhood and pressed it against her soaked, burning womanhood.

She wrapped her legs around him and screamed pleasure as he entered her suddenly but gently, letting her adjust to his large presence before starting to move again. Her hips followed his motion of their own accord, and she gripped his body tightly, her moans rising as he thrust into her, pushing her over the edge…

Alyra came with a throaty moan, screaming his name, lost in a daze. She felt exhaustion hit her like a brick wall, but her hips kept moving for a moment still as the king grabbed her harder, pressing her against him roughly, and spilling his seed into her spent womanhood with a hungry growl.

Only then did she let go of him and he of her, letting her rest into the furs on the bed anew as he rolled off her and lay down next to her.

Exhaustion was gaining on her and sleep was claiming her mind, but before she fell into the vast void of the land of dreams, she heard a distant clap, like the sound of two hands hitting together…

She fell asleep with a thought of surprising clarity, which sent her stomach rolling and made her head spin…

 _What did I just do?_

(0)

There were no dreams, and perhaps she was thankful for that: she'd seen enough images out of nightmares to last her a lifetime. The night was long and peaceful and she woke with the rising of the sun, as it streamed through an open window, warm and bright, contrasting with the hollow void she felt within. She'd rested, but felt restless.

Alyra sat up in the bed next to Eredin, who woke at her movement, his glacier eyes shining in cruel amusement as he watched her rise.

She gazed at the far wall, slowly processing what had happened the night before… what she'd done… more importantly: how she'd enjoyed it…

Alyra was not sure what had come over her… If perhaps Gaunter was to blame for the daze she'd been in and how it had guided her into allowing Eredin to take her as his own… It was hard to find anyone else to blame for her actions other than herself: she'd been weak; she'd faltered. She was not quite sure why or how she'd so easily given in to a brief moment of gentleness that plunged her into such a hurricane of disgrace, but she knew one thing, though: if she could pull through the gulf of distress, shame, self-hate and disgust that was threatening to swallow her whole being, she just might be able to pull through worse… Gaunter would have his wish and she would get to go back home…

The girl swung her bare legs from the bed and sat on its edge.

"After how you've enjoyed yourself last night, I would have thought you'd ask for seconds this morning, little bird." Eredin growled from behind her. His voice sent shivers down her spine and she knew he saw the hair rise on her back. Her stomach roiled unpleasantly at his words, threatening to empty itself.

But she did not react.

Alyra rose, feeling the king's seed seep from her womanhood and trickle down her thighs slowly, feeling as cool as ice-melt.

But she did not react, reaching for her clothes, which lay at the foot of the bed, mercifully untorn, unlike they had been after Imlerith was done with her.

Eredin sat up and stared at her, his brow furrowed.

"I think it's high time you joined the Wild Hunt. No use putting yourself through more misery, you know yourself vanquished. You'll find that your skill and fire will warrant you a good place in my ranks. What say you, half-dh'oine?"

She paused in the action of pulling on her pants, staring at the far wall, her jaw tightly set in silent determination.

"I think it's high time I let Caranthir have a go at me. Poor darling is just so eager to make me suffer… would be cruel to deny him any longer." Her voice was empty and emotionless as she carefully kept her feelings at bay, hoping not to get submerged by them… by the fear… by the humiliation…

With that, she finished getting dressed, not failing to note the look of surprise in Eredin's glacier eyes as she glanced over her shoulder.

It brought her savage pleasure.

(0)

They went through a large hall on their way out, where a small feast had been laid out for the king to break his fast. He paused at the table, laden with lavish, succulent dishes and took a moment to nibble a few choice bites here and there, watching her carefully. Truly, this girl with eyes like green fire was nowhere near done astonishing him. With a gesture, he invited her to eat as well and she obliged, her gaze low but not broken… he would have thought that several hours in the Mirror Man's dimension would have snapped her resolve like a twig, but obviously he had been wrong… honestly, Eredin was now far more curious of her than he was angry, contrary to his both generals, who had suffered a burning humiliation in her world when they'd been bested by the girl. Sure, she had beaten him in combat, but her obtuse determination and skill caused him an intrigue that far outweighed the anger she'd originally awoken in him…

It was not often the king found himself at a loss at how to proceed… should he bring her back to the Mirror Man's dimension? It obviously hadn't affected her anywhere near as much as he'd hoped… Should he leave her to his soldiers, to do as they please? No… such an action would only diminish her status should she eventually bend and join his ranks; best keep this between him and his two generals. Should he leave her to Caranthir, then? Eredin feared that there wouldn't be an Alyra to join his ranks anymore, should he chose to let the mage do as he pleased with her… then again, if she survived Caranthir, it meant she was made of very stern stuff...

It was probably best to keep proceeding as he had so far, the king thought. It was best to let her fight them in a mockery of choice of her fate, until one of them pushed her beyond her limits and made her bend the knee. She'd have to, sooner or later, right?

Eredin decided to consult with Ge'els and see what his lieutenant thought of all this.

The girl had picked at a few dishes and he could tell she was too nervous to eat any more, so he gestured for her to follow him and they left his huge palace in the middle of the city of Tir nà Lia to stride the calm streets all the way to the battle arena.

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Alyra searched her pouches as they entered the sandy arena, pulling out her potion vials. The Thunderbolt was unfortunately empty, but the Swallow still had some dregs at the bottom, so she decided to gulp down the rest as a precaution. The brew hit her belly like a sack of rocks, causing her to double over with a groan as fire spread through her being and her small breakfast threatened to make a re-appearance. It took her a moment of measured breathing to regain control over the nausea that filled her body and stand straight again, her mouth dry and her body already exhausted.

Eredin had joined his generals and they spoke in low tones; she could not hear their words, but they glanced at her, Imlerith with hate and Caranthir with wild hunger. A servant came up to her, like all the other days, carrying her twin blades, which she took without even glancing at them.

"Seems you want me to go first." Caranthir said softy as he stepped closer, twirling his long staff as cool wind filled the area.

She slid into a fighting pose almost half-heartedly, scowling. "Do your worst, mage."

Caranthir smirked cruelly, the motion twisting his gorgeous features and he vanished.

Alyra threw her blades down and folded her fingers into Yrden, projecting the sign to the ground.

The mage appeared next to her and his motion immediately slowed as the sign acted upon him. She slipped from beneath his swinging staff dexterously, blind fury twisting her features. Putting the weight of her entire body into it, she threw a punch right at his jaws and it connected with a sickening crack.

It was a satisfying sound.

Yrden broke, but before it did, she pivoted on a foot like a dancer and kicked Caranthir right in the ribs.

Again, she heard a satisfying crunch and the mage stumbled back, gasping for air as she shot forward, howling like a wild animal.

"You want to torture me, you bloede areshole? I'll give you a damn good reason to torture me!" Alyra screamed so loudly her voice tore through her throat like a hot knife as she danced towards the unbalanced mage, spinning out of the blow of his staff and blocking a clumsy kick he tried to send her way. Caranthir extended a hand and howled some spell: she felt a force like a stampeding fiend hit her straight-on, sending her flying back and tumbling heavily with a groan into the sand.

Her swords lay long forgotten and the last dregs of Swallow burned like fire through her system, allowing her to jump right back up and fold her fingers into Igni, projecting everything she had into the flames. To avoid them, Caranthir had to disappear and she immediately threw herself forward into an instinctive roll: he appeared behind her and missed her entirely with his staff as she clambered up again and dodged another of his spells, rushing at him.

She could tell he was overwhelmed by her fury and she felt savage pleasure at that realisation. It did not matter that she would lose: all that mattered was that he was going to see what he was dealing with.

Because she was going to lose.

She'd ditched her swords to better be able to cast signs and spells, but she had nowhere near the training in witchcraft that he did and, as such, she was bound to become exhausted long before him. Just as when she had faced Imlerith the day before, wild hate pushed her onward, but she knew that dangerous energy would run out very quickly… however, she also knew one more thing: before it ran out, she would show Caranthir what fear really was.

The girl spun back, out of his reach and moved her fingers into a complex pattern she'd practiced several times in her life: it was one of the very few spells she knew. She said the words to the magic and projected it at the mage, feeling it burn through her being as it sapped her force…

Caranthir blocked it easily, as she had expected her would. It was the same pain spell she'd inflicted on Imlerith the day before…

But as he blocked her, she vanished, mouthing the words to another spell.

The look of shock that filled his features was worth every bit of the devouring, horrid fire that consumed her as she drew on the magic force as she had never before.

Unlike him, she did not teleport. She simply vanished, becoming invisible.

For a few heartbeats, there was naught but silence and the sound of Caranthir's heavy breathing in the arena as he tried to gather his bearings, looking around himself wildly for the girl…

There was a loud sound like the breaking of a thousand mirrors and she appeared all around him all at once, screaming her fury, aiming blows at him… Caranthir tried to focus and disappear, but before he could, one illusion grabbed his arm and yanked it back, while another swung an angry fist into his side as a third one grabbed his linen shirt and pulled on it hard enough to make the fibres tear apart at the seams…

He swung his staff at one illusion but when it hit her, she simply vanished into an explosion of glimmering shards…

There were a thousand facets of the girl, all howling with rage, the noise absolutely deafening in the small sandy arena, their fingers bent like the talons of hawks, aimed right at him as they all charged in a terrifying stampede… panicked, the mage struggled back before this ocean of fury, trying to find something to conjure that would help him and finding nothing…

And then all the illusion vanished all at once with another crack like the splintering of crystal, raining down in shiny slivers all around him, like some glimmering rain…

A few feet away to his right, stood the girl.

Her legs were shaking from exhaustion and blood was trickling out of her nose as she struggled to stay upright, her green eyes lost in a daze as they tried, and failed, to stay focused on him…

Alyra let out a shaky, hysterical laugh and collapsed into a heap on the ground, unmoving, the blood from her nose pooling into the pale sand. She'd passed out.

"First blood…" Caranthir whispered shakily to himself, before regaining his composure.

But, for the briefest moment, he did not dare move towards her…

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I feel this chapter is a bit shorter than others, but I'll end it here on this note.

Hope you enjoyed it, please leave a review, I love reading them!


	12. Through fire and pain

Where did all my reviewers go? Seems I'm missing a few regulars! Hope you guys are still reading and enjoying the story!

Lucy, thank you for the kind words. I had no idea Eliane meant daughter of the sun… seems very fitting for her.

Bolondka, I'm so sorry! I'm a horrible, cruel author I know but I'm not done with her yet! Please endure, I promise that it'll be worth it in the end!

TheCeneedra, guten tag! So happy you like the story! I'm Polish, living in Canada and it's actually very cool to see I have readers across the globe. Years ago, when I first wrote for Fanfiction, there were none of those cool features that let you see how many people and where from were reading your stories. It's a very cool feeling and I hope you keep enjoying what I write!

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There was naught but darkness about her… she was floating through an endless sea of obscurity and there was nothing; for all eternity there was nothing.

But then, coming from what seemed like extremely far away, came the unmistakable sound of voices, although she seemed unable to remember whose they were, even if it felt as though she should.

She strained her ears, trying to hear, but even with the effort, the sound was muffled, as though her ears were stuffed with cotton… she found that she could slowly make out the words nonetheless.

… _and do not kill her, you hear me?_ A voice like claws of steel on a sheet of ice…

 _Yes, my king. Although I don't understand why…_ Another voice. One which awoke hate and fury in her heart, but also a wave of dread…

 _Do what you will, but I want her to bend, not break and die._ Ice-voice.

 _My king, you know very well she will break long before she ever bends._ Another voice: a soft, poised and calm one. She knew it, but could not remember from where. _The girl is like hard metal that a smith would pound with a hammer: he may hit it for as long as he wishes, but it will shatter to pieces before turning into a sword._

 _What do you suggest, then?_ Ice-voice.

 _Find the flame that makes the metal bend…_ Soft-voice.

She felt fear fill her bellow hollowly, like a dull ache that did not want to go away. She knew something horrible was going to happen. She did not know to whom or how, but it was going to be terrible…

But the voices were gone and she was alone in the void.

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Alyra woke slowly, in a heavy haze. It took time to take in the condition she was in, as well as overcome to confusion of where she was at… the room around her was unfamiliar and it was dark, making it hard to asses her surroundings…

There was a sort of dull, aching fire coursing through her being, pulsating with her heart. Memories of her fight with Caranthir returned and, for the briefest moment she asked herself what the hell she'd been thinking, channeling the Force like that. It could have, even should have killed her: she practiced basic magic and signs, yes, but she was unfit to channel greater spells such as she had done… she was not versed in the art of sorcery… she was very lucky to have survived…

Or perhaps she was unlucky: by the way her body throbbed, she knew she had caused it irreparable damage. The power of magic had most probably burned through her organs, possibly damaging them severely and taking a toll on her longevity. If she hadn't been made sterile by her previous use of the signs already, she was most surely unable to bear children after that spell… not that she had any plans to do so, but it was always a blow to lose something you could never get back.

Every breath she took sent a long spike of pain through her ribs, betraying a wound that even the Swallow had been unable to mend. She wondered if she was perhaps slowly dying from her spell… if so, she supposed she might be thankful for it…

Alyra tried to flex her fingers and found she could move them, but just so slightly, the motion accompanied by radiating pain, of course. She tried to lift her arms and suddenly found her limbs unable to move, as something seemed to be holding her down at the wrists. The girl jerked upward, panicked, only to feel something tightly pressing over her neck and across her chest, strapping her to the hard surface upon which she lay. Feeling a growing sense of dread, she tried to raise her legs but was met with the same ordeal: there were straps across her thighs and ankles that kept her put, unable to move… she could tell they were straps and not metal bands by the slight give they had when she pushed against them.

Swearing softly, she struggled against her binds for a moment as her body ached terribly in response to the movement, hoping against hope to somehow slip free of the straps… when she saw it was no good, she started to fold her fingers into Igni with the idea of burning through the leather fastenings, but as she completed the sign, a pain like needles shot through her hand and up her arm, making her cry out.

It was sharp and excruciating and nothing became of her failed sign.

"You won't be able to cast anything for a while." A soft voice said from nearby. She twisted her head to the left, to where the sound had come from and found she could make out a shape in the darkness, leaning against a wall. "You've burned through all your magic energy and even I can't say how long it'll be before it regenerates… that, and I've placed a spell on you that will cause that pain to shoot through your arms every time you try to conjure anything at all."

It was Caranthir… of course it was… Alyra felt hollow dread fill her as she struggled with the terrible knowledge of the suffering she was going to endure. Ge'els had warned her: the mage was especially cruel… she had no idea what he had in store, but she was already trying to prepare herself for the worst: psychological torment, physical pain, rape… all that she had suffered these past few days, multiplied by a hundred…

"You're quite silent, all of a sudden. No clever comment? No snarky remark?" Caranthir sneered, moving away from the wall. He flicked his hand and several candles on various surfaces around the room lit up. "Could it be that you're already broken, half-bloed whore?" He moved to the table on which she lay, staring down at her with his sharp eyes, his pale, gorgeous face quite morbid in the flickering light of the candles. His gaze bore into hers and she stared right back, as defiant as she dared to be. "No… no, of course you're not broken. Not yet. But you will be. It may be tonight, or it may be a few nights from now, but you will snap like a dry twig."

He ran his hand slowly down the side of her face, but unlike Eredin's gesture, which she'd initially enjoyed, this one sent a horrible shiver of hatred mixed with bitter terror right through her heart.

But she let none of this show, staring at him with a hard gaze. Caranthir smirked coldly.

"I dislike being made a fool of and you… you were quite the easy opponent to underestimate… I may have erred, but you still need to pay for that insolence of yours." Caranthir was smiling a small, dangerous smile and she swallowed silently, her throat tight and dry. He ran a hand, glowing with magic energy, over her chest and belly and she felt a wave of cold hit her… her clothes began to disintegrate. "Keep looking at me like that, dh'oine… it just makes me want to hurt you more."

His cool fingers traced over her naked form, trailing slowly down the long scar that started on her face and ended at her shoulders, before moving to the hole-like mark on her belly, left behind, years ago, by a spear that had punctured her front to back, miraculously missing every major organ. His touch and the cool air of the dark room were making goose bumps appear all over her body and she clenched her jaws shut tightly as his hand snuck down to her womanhood, making her stomach roil angrily with disgust and fear.

His soft hands trailed down to her thigh but stopped there, making no further inquisition into her more personal space. She was glad of it: Caranthir terrified her, his silent cruelty making her feel ill.

His hand ran back up to the old spear wound on her stomach and he traced it curiously with a thumb, smirking.

"This one here looks to have been pretty serious…" He glanced at her, coldness swirling in his eyes. She supported his gaze, but felt her insides seize up. "You know what happens when a being suffers a serious wound? No? Well… when it happens, they tend to think that time flies by extremely fast because of the intensity of the event and pain but in truth… in truth the wound marks them deeply with horrible mnemonic pain and the event is stored, excruciating second by excruciating second, in a place in their mind they don't even know about… every emotion, every sensation they experience during such a traumatic event is kept safely hidden, awaiting a trigger to come forth again. Most beings don't ever fall on that trigger, which would cause them to relieve their event and only very few ever even get intense flashbacks of such memories… however…" His nail was digging painfully into the scar now and her heart was hammering in silent horror. "There exists a spell that awakens that stored memory to its fullest. Care to try it out?"

Her eyes were full of fear that she was desperately trying to hide and Alyra had to struggle to keep the tremble out of her voice. "No… not really…"

He smirked arrogantly at the whimper that escaped her mouth.

"You're not dim enough to think that was an actual question, are you?" He scoffed when she kept silent, watching him wearily. "Thought so… you might want to brace for this… I hear it's quite horrible…"

His voice was conversational, as though they were discussing dinner plans, but his eyes were absolutely glacial. She clenched her pained fists tight but could think of nothing else to do in preparation other than to harden her resolve and start praying she would not break under this torture. Caranthir stepped back slightly and furrowed his brow in concentration, still pressing a finger into the scar, and started chanting words to a spell.

She did not catch them, because the moment he started, a pain like fire erupted from the scar and spread rapidly through her belly, all the way to her back. She cried out wordlessly and blinked, but as her eyes opened anew she no longer saw the damp dungeon walls, gazing instead on a fiery battlefield, where arid smoke and the cawing of crows thundered around her as the sun rose slowly, casting morbid shadows over the hundreds of soldiers rotting away around her.

She turned on herself, lost, trying to understand what she was to do…

Alyra remembered: a grieving mother had hired her scour the battlefield in search of her son, presumed dead. She wanted his body to be buried properly and had paid the young woman handsomely to take out the necrophages that had appeared after the battle's end, find her son's body and bring him back to her. Alyra had agreed, being between contracts at the moment and trusting the Nilfgaardian army had moved far enough from this site after their victory so that it was no longer dangerous for the likes of her…

She'd been wrong.

As she slowly rode through the bloodied, burned expanse, stopping to search the corpses for the one she'd been paid to retrieve, the world suddenly exploded around her.

Ahead, the Nilfgaardians had apparently found themselves facing the Temerian army, which outnumbered them by quite a few soldiers. They'd decided to fall back, thundering across the desecrated field and she'd failed to hear or see them, being hidden from sight by a mountain of corpses and the acrid smoke that still billowed over the stained grounds. Behind her, an unusually large commando of Scoia'tael has stormed out of a forest's outskirts to meet the Temerian outriders trying to cut off the fleeing soldiers of Nilfgaard and she quite suddenly found herself squeezed between the three factions.

This is where the memory truly started and she found she was quite unable to remember where she'd been before this… all she knew was that she had to fight and she had to do it now! She was allied with no one here, having had no desire to affiliate with either side after the bloody coup in Thanedd and was, as such, a target for the three parties waging war. The noblewoman's son be damned, she had to get out of this butchery!

Scoia'tael arrows flew past her like screaming birds and she yanked a small shield from a dead soldier, raising it just in time to catch two arrows fletched with pheasant feathers in the soft wood. She threw the shield down and withdrew her twin swords, giving them a twirl and bracing against a screaming Nilfgaardian which was coming her way. The rising sun caught the smooth polish of his black armor, shining brightly, but before he could reach her, a Temerian bolt pierced through his hauberk and he went down in a crash of clanking metal. Behind him, hundreds of his brothers were charging as well, some mounted and many afoot. Alyra found herself right at the impact point of the two armies of soldiers and commando of elves and the battle suddenly became a blur of screams and blades.

She danced deftly out of the singing blades of an Aen Seidhe, parrying a soldier's heavy sword and slipping behind him to catch him in the exposed part of his armor, under his arm. Her sword went in silver and came out dripping red. The soldier collapsed and the elf paused, wondering if she was fighting for them… his brief hesitation cost him his life, as a mounted fighter thundered past and caught him right in the neck with a precise swing of his long sword.

Alyra was already long gone, spinning around another elf and cutting into his leg, not wishing to kill him… she did not want to take a side in this ugly mess of a war, but she did have some reluctance at blindly slaughtering those of her kind… then again, she was half human too… a Temerian soldier, dressed in flashy colors of blue, leapt before her with a raised blade and she blocked him with ease, kicking him in the knee and hearing a satisfying crunch. He went down howling but was silenced by a stray arrow that went in through the back of his neck and burst out the front. Hot, red blood splattered her face and her whole body was seized by a chilling feeling of abject horror and fear… she could just as easily lose her life in this mess of a battle… panic seized her… she had to cut her way out!

But the fighting was dense and confusing… the ground exploded near her as magical fireball raining from the sky came crashing down… a second and a third one followed suit, the last one missing her by mere feet and causing her to go flying sideways as it exploded powerfully. She hit the ground like a sack of rocks, miraculously retaining her swords and jumped to her feet at once, trying to gather her bearings, ignoring the throb in her shoulder…

Behind her, she heard the thundering sounds of hooves.

She heard it too late.

As she turned, swords raised, the mounted soldier was upon her, screaming madly. She noted with a cold detachment that he was armored in black, bearing the Nilfgaardian sun on his chest. Then, his carefully aimed spear caught her in the stomach with monumental force, tearing through her chainmail shirt, right into her flesh and exploding through her back and she went flying back, her mouth opened in a silent scream.

Alyra landed sideways, hard on the ground, all air escaping her lungs. She lay there for an excruciating moment, stunned and gasping for air, trembling like a leaf as her hands slowly made their way down to the wooden shaft sticking out of her belly, wrapping around it slowly.

Every motion was agony. Every breath was torture. She could feel the spear within her body, writhing against her organs and stared stupidly at the five feet of it, sticking out of her body in front of her, as she struggled to comprehend why blood was pooling from the entry point… it all felt incredibly unreal, like some dream, expect she was suffering like she'd never suffered before, unable to utter a single sound.

Around her, war waged, but it was as though someone had pushed her head underwater and she could only hear echoes of the screams of dying men, the howls of bloodthirsty killers and the explosions caused by magic raining from the sky. The girl slowly, carefully, shifted, causing a spasm of pain to shoot through her flank and a sorrowful moan to escape her lips. She was half-sitting against something large and somewhat soft, which she assumed to be a dead horse.

Gingerly, she inched her hand to her back, her swords forgotten at her sides and found the point of the spear that protruded from somewhere just beneath her ribs.

It was smooth, uniform; a single point. It had no razor edges or barbs, which made her cry out half in relief, half in horror: an arrow-head spear or one with reversed barbs would have mutilated her insides, assuring her death… a simple, pointed one just meant it would take much, much longer for her to pass from internal bleeding, if her organs had not been touched, which she doubted. But it also meant she was not doomed… however, she had no idea how she would manage to save herself this time…

Around her, war waged. Men died.

The pain was like fire and she was suddenly terribly afraid, terribly alone… she tried pulling on the long shaft coming out of her belly, but the pain was unbearable and she felt all strength leave her body, her hands dropping at her side. She started crying, hot tears full of terror rushing down her face and it took her for ever to lift her hands again and grasp the spear. This time, she tried pushing it through herself in hopes of getting it out. It was slightly less agonizing, but she barely managed to slide it a quarter of an inch before her vision became blurry and the pain was just too much… she'd have to push it five whole feet that way if she hoped to get it out through her back… the mere thought of having to endure five feet of that horrid hurt made new tears escape her eyes.

Around her, the war had moved on. The fighting had gone elsewhere and somehow the sun was setting. The whole day had passed and she had barely noticed, bleeding slowly on the battlefield, propped up against a decaying horse.

Overhead, vultures were circling, spying the dead. It seemed she could see their black, beady eyes stare at her most hungrily. The world slipped from focus and after a few moments, she no longer found she had to strength to struggle to keep it clear… she let her head drop to her chest and her eyes close. Perhaps she would never wake.

She prayed she would never wake.

But she did. The moon was high and full, the air was heavy with the stench of death and decay; there were no more moans of soldiers in agony, but there was another sound: the hungry growling and grumbling of necrophages as the scent of war drew them near.

She opened her eyes and stared right at a ghoul as it skulked mere feet away from her. She made not a sound, but the beast had seen her, had smelled the life on her… it snapped its jaws angrily, as though she was threatening to steal its meal of decayed flesh, and inched towards her to defend what it had claimed.

Alyra clenched her jaws and watched it come, the dull pain in her body giving away to cold acceptance: this was it; this was how she died. There was no more fear, no more agony… there was just the snapping ghoul, with its deadly jaws full of fangs, not unlike a hundred ghoul she'd killed in the past… she'd walked this path and she would die on this path…

One hand still on the spear, she waited for death to seize her in its fangs.

"Hey, ugly!"

There was a loud bang and a flash of light and the ghoul went flying sideways. Some of the energy from the Aard sign that had just been used to repel it actually hit her and she cried out as the spear moved within her and caused a brand new wave of horrid pain.

The dark-haired Witcher that had cast the sign glanced at her in surprise, his cat-like eyes wide and shining in the night. He held his silver sword lightly at his side, assessing her condition. She stared at him, clenching the spear and panting slightly, every breath a whole world of hurt.

"How are you even alive?" He asked bluntly, before turning his attention to the ghoul as it circled back towards him. He made quick work of it, dodging easily as it sprang at him, driving his blade with dextrous movements its flank, effectively killing it.

Alyra's vision was losing focus again. The last things she noted before passing out again where the scar on the Witcher's high forehead and the trembling, shiny wolf's head medallion that hung around his neck, visible as he kneeled in front of her, saying words she did not hear.

The rest was darkness and agony.

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Alyra blinked and suddenly she was looking at the damp, stone walls of the dungeons where she was being kept, the scar on her belly radiating intense pain as her heart hammered in her chest.

She cried out and struggled against her tight binds, confused for a moment about where she was and what was going on. The hurt that encompassed her body seemed to grow steadily, become unbearable. She clenched her jaws tightly and snarled into her teeth, but it took mere moments before she was full-out screaming as the ghost pain of the spear wound haunted her mercilessly. She felt everything just as she remembered, from the jolts of suffering when the Witcher had moved her, all the way to the long, nightmarish night she'd spent as he slowly pulled the thing out of her. He could have left her to die… he even should have, seeing as she had nothing to do with the contract he'd taken up on the battlefield (incidentally, it had been from the same woman who had hired her and, seeing that the first envoy had not returned, had sent the Witcher to find her son's corpse) and, for the first time ever, she actually wished he _had_ let her die that night…

Because now she was forced to endure that pain all over again, under the amused stare of one Aen Elle.

Alyra felt tears pool under her clenched eyelids and stream down her face as she gasped for air and groaned against the phantom pain.

Then, after what seemed like an eternity, it stopped. It was so sudden and merciful that she found herself bursting into tears, sobbing quietly as a fading echo of the horrible experience vanished slowly from her body. She opened her green eyes, awash with weeping, but still full of fury and determination. She trained that gaze on the elf, who was looking at her with curious amusement.

"The Witcher which came to your aid… he was of the school of the Wolf… what was his name?" The mage asked softly and she understood he'd been able to see her memory as she lived it. Was he reading her thoughts? Alyra found she had no idea and thought of other things than of the Witcher, not wishing to expose him to any danger… he'd been somewhat of a spiteful dick, but he had saved her life…

Caranthir shrugged at her resolve. "So be it… If I want that name out of you, I'll rip it out sooner or later anyway. I'll admit I would have thought one round to be enough to break you, dh'oine bitch. Seems I was wrong. But don't worry: the night is still young and you'll find I can do this sort of thing for a very, very long time…" The morbid grin that twisted his features made him look quite terrifying. "Which one of us will tire first, I wonder?"

She showed him her teeth. "Do your worst, you whoreson…" Her voice was tiny and shaky, but it was resolute.

Caranthir chuckled, waving his hand anew and repeating the spell. This time, she did not plunge back into the memory, going directly to the burning, horrid sensation of having six feet of wooden spear protruding from her stomach. Again, she felt every pang of agony that came with every breath, with every motion, with every tear… the room filled with her howls and screams as she pushed against the leather straps binding her with enough force for them to start cutting into her skin.

The spell left her panting with tears streaming down her face anew.

"The Witcher… what was his name?" Caranthir asked when the aching had subsided ever so slightly.

"Fuck off…" She hissed, teeth clenched.

He chuckled and waved his hands, chanting the words to the spell. Alyra arched her back against the sharp pain as it returned, intensified somehow… she was screaming her throat raw, her fists clenched so tightly that her broken nails were biting the skin until they drew blood. This time, the fire stayed longer and burned harder and she found herself thrashing against her bonds, writhing as she was pushed far past the limits of what she thought she could endure.

The pain vanished just like that and she let out a chocked, pitiful sob, mumbling as her eyes stared up at the dark ceiling, wide and full of horror. Her chest was tight with fear, her mind bending under the stress of what she had to endure… but she stared at him through the tidal wave of tears that fell freely from her eyes, refusing to back down.

Caranthir stooped over her, his gorgeous face a cold mask of sneering amusement.

"The Witcher. His name." He ordered. She lay there, staring at him with her jaw set tightly, her body wracked by sobs and spasms of phantom pain. The mage sighed, annoyed, and conjured the spell anew.

Alyra howled in agony, screaming and swearing, crying and growling, but she did not beg… she could not… would not… her pride was slowly being worked away like brittle stone washed off by the waves of an angry sea and she knew… she knew she would not be able to endure this… how much time had passed? How many times had he made the pain return? How long until morning…? Would this even end, come morning?

"Stop… please, stop…" She cried out softly as the fire returned for another wave, her palms red with blood, her cheeks stained with tears.

Caranthir removed the spell and she sighed audibly, averting her eyes.

"Did I hear you correctly? You want it to stop?" He asked quietly, dangerously. She hesitated for a brief moment before glancing up at him pitifully and nodding slowly, shame filling her heart. The mage smirked. "Well, too bad. Should have given me that name when I first asked."

He waved his hand and the fire returned again, far more intense this time. The girl bucked hard against her restraints, screaming so loud her voice cracked and broke and nothing more came from her throat but dry, arid sobs. The pain was like a hundred thousand needles working through her belly and back and suddenly, it was too much. She passed the threshold of what she could endure and her body shut down, plunging her into cool, merciful darkness.

(0)

Alyra was awoken quite suddenly by being dumped into freezing-cold water. She opened her mouth to scream, but it was filled with liquid and she found herself chocking, struggling, thrashing as she tried to raise her head out of the water. Her feet stabilized on the metal floor of the basin beneath her, but before she could raise herself up, she felt a cruel hand grab a fistful of her hair and pull her out by it.

Her throat was so raw she found herself unable to make a sound other than the panicked sputtering of one trying to breathe after almost drowning. She raised her hands to free her hair but was unbalanced as she was pulled back, over the edge of the basin and dumped roughly on the cold stone floor. It scraped her naked form, drawing blood from her palms and knees as she landed awkwardly. The girl was gasping for air, shaking half from fear, half from the rude awakening in freezing water, as she glanced up at Caranthir, who stood over her with an amused sneer.

The look awoke a flash of rage in her chest and she trust her hand out at once, folding her fingers into Aard…

Forgetting that he had cursed her magic abilities…

The sign failed and a hundred invisible needle rushed through her extended arm, causing her to collapse in silent pain on the cold ground, curling up tightly into a ball as she awaited his blow…

He did not hit her, but picked her up by the hair again, pulling her along wordlessly to the table on which she'd been strapped before… she took a quick look around the circular room, noting the vials of viscous potions, racks of ingredients and various… tools of some sort that lined the walls. There was the basin and the table and nothing more. Caranthir thrust her onto it unceremoniously, whispering the words to a spell as her body placed itself on the table and the straps sprung to life, binding her anew. She was stuck there again and suspected she had not been unconscious for longer than a few minutes.

"Passing out won't save you. If the water doesn't awake you, I have spells that will." Caranthir said softly, staring at her with amusement. "You're going to spend every minute of this night in agony, until you tell me what I want to know."

She closed her eyes painfully. "What do you want to know?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, her throat sore.

"The name of that Witcher. Where he is hiding. If he knows the one known as Gwynbleidd."

She glanced sideways at him. Maybe it was the freezing bath, but she suddenly felt invigorated. Her whole body was shaking like a leaf from the cold and form anticipation, but her resolve had returned, harder and more obtuse than ever.

"I don't remember. I don't know. And I've never heard of a Gwynbleidd." She answered dryly. Only the first answer was a lie: the Witcher's name she knew very well, but she'd met him last years ago and had no idea where he or this Gwynbleidd could be, although the name seemed to ring a very distant bell.

Caranthir smirked. "Too bad. If you were at least useful, you could have spared yourself a world of pain. But since there doesn't seem to be an information you can give me… you should know that king Eredin asked me to make you an offer, should you grow tiered of screaming in agony: join his ranks as a Rider of the Wild Hunt and I'll stop torturing you."

She stared at him without a word, her face blank. The silence between them lasted quite a long while.

The mage shrugged. "I told him as much. You're too much of an obtuse dh'oine whore to know when to bend the knee. Just as well… I have a few more spells I want to practice on you. Besides, he will find a way to make you do as he wants; he always does. It'll just be a lot, lot worse than what you are enduring right now."

The sick grin he was giving her made her face contort with disgust and hate, as she told herself nothing could be worse than what she was enduring right now.

Of course, she was wrong.

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Cliffhanger! Sort of… please review, even if it's just a few words. It's always such a nice surprise to read comment from you guys!


	13. Down we go

Lucy, you're about to find out if your suspicions were right or wrong! And yeah, Caranthir was always the creepiest for me too, but that may be because we see and hear so little of him during the game. I read about him on the wiki, as I haven't read the books to that point yet.

Davs, you said it!

Beespoken, welcome amongst us! Glad you enjoy the story.

Guest, keep on reading, it might just get better… or not…

Bolondka, I know I was rough last chapter… but somehow I couldn't bring myself to have Caranthir have sex with her, it seemed out of character for how I had imagined him. He's more snobbish, and feels it is beneath him to sleep with a human, or a half human. And yeah, I know people sometimes skip a chapter or so in their reviews, but call me an attention whore, I love seeing new reviews and love reading them!

Importchic, not a problem, I'm just glad you still read and enjoy the story. I have loads of time to think about it and plan ahead during my work hours (it's a very boring job). And… keep it a secret, but I have at least one sequel already planned and perhaps another one after that. I'm having a lot of fun writing this story.

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Alyra had to be carried out of Caranthir's dungeon when he was done with her. It was not quite morning, so a rider took her with him on a horse and they rode through the city, all the way to the infirmary. The girl was limp and wordless, her hands woven into the horse's mane in front of her, her gaze lost and vapid. At least they'd had the decency of dressing her before she left and she did not have to ride naked…

He'd pushed her to her breaking point, but dared go no farther, as his king had specifically asked the girl still be whole when he was done with her. Truthfully, he was amazed at her resilience: he'd never before met a being so adept at staying obtusely silent during some of the worst torture he'd ever put anyone through. He'd forced her to revisit more painful memories tied to her scars, but none were quite as vividly brutal as the one tied to the spear wound, although it had permitted him to rip a few names out of her as she dipped in and out of a panicked haze of agony and despair. For one, she'd cried out after her mother (she did not remember saying her name, but in truth she was sure of nothing) as she re-visited the moment where one of her father's soldiers had tried to kill her and Caranthir had also finally learned that it was a Witcher of the name of Lambert who had removed that spear from her belly and she had also been saved by another Witcher, one named Letho, from the bolt she'd received through her thigh. He'd mocked her for laying with these dh'oine mongrels in exchange for their knowledge in combat, magic and potion making like some common whore, but his words did not reach her as much as he'd hoped. For one, Letho was much more to her than some Witcher she'd fucked just to trade for his techniques and even Lambert had become somewhat of a good friend after their ordeal, allowing her to almost overlook how much of a prick he could be at times. She did not expect someone like Caranthir to understand the complexity of those relationships, so she stayed silent as he made mock of her, secretly thankful that she'd been able to so vividly relive those brief moments with both Witchers. It was almost a balm on her torn soul, because after delving into her memories, he put her through spells that targeted various parts of her body with different sorts of pain and the night had just dragged on…

What truly terrified her was that Caranthir now knew the names of those important to her. She knew very well that, should they be found, they could be used to make her sway in her decision not to join the Hunt… it was for that reason that she had initially told Ge'els that her mother was dead, even if she was not: they could not go after a dead person. She hoped she hadn't contradicted that statement sometime during her blinding agony. Alyra tried in vain to reassure herself that both Lambert and Letho were skilled Witchers and would be able to handle the Hunt should it come after them… but she was worried all the same. Truthfully, she did not know where Lambert was and if he was even alive: she'd met with him a couple times after the spear incident as he'd been working contracts near her and grudgingly accepted her help, but the last time she'd seen him was well over two years ago. Letho she'd seen a couple of months past, but he'd recently sent her a note saying he was undertaking a dangerous mission and would contact her again once it was done… she'd had no news, so she assumed the worse had happened. Even if it saddened her greatly to think him dead, she was glad that the Hunt could not reach him.

As for her mother… she only prayed they still thought her dead. Alyra had no idea what she'd do if Eliaine was brought to Tir nà Lia and threatened with hell knows what unless her daughter joined the Hunt… in truth she had no idea what she'd do if the same happened with Letho or Lambert… would she bend her knee and join Eredin? Or would she resist?

She chased the thought from her mind, having no desire to deal with something like that.

She was carried into the infirmary and laid in one of the soft, white bed, where the Aen Elle healer immediately approached her with a very grave look on her face, hand over her mouth as she assessed the girl's state.

"Is she…" Alyra heard the woman ask the soldier who had brought her. "Is she…?"

"No." He answered curtly. "I don't think she's…"

"I'm right here, you know." Alyra whispered, her raw throat in absolutely agony. She coughed slightly and grimaced at the pain. "Don't talk about me like…"

"Hush now, child." The medic interrupted, pressing a hand to her forehead as if to take her temperature. She grabbed the girl's wrist and searched for her pulse. "She spent all night… all night with him?"

Alyra saw the soldier look away. He stayed silent for a moment.

"Yes. We heard her screaming until dawn."

The healer rounded on him like some angry animal and Alyra saw the soldier flinch. "And you let him do this to her…" The Aen Elle woman snarled very quietly.

The soldier shrugged. "We do not interfere."

The healer stared at him, but Alyra could not see her expression.

"Get out of here."

Her voice was curt and cold as ice. The soldier bowed his head stiffly, turned and walked towards the door, his greave boots clanking against the stone floor like a death march. Before he exited though, he stopped and turned slightly.

"I have never seen anyone survive a whole night with the Navigator. Never."

With that, he was gone and the healer started fluttering about the room, mumbling to herself angrily as she grabbed for vials and bandages, although Alyra wondered what for: she was physically unharmed, as far as she knew, save for the damage caused by her magic outburst the day before, which had most obviously not been fatal.

Almost as if reading her mind, the elven healer stopped what she was doing and glanced at her. "The sort of torture Caranthir can put a being through does more damage than one would think… often damage that cannot be seen. Besides, I take it you have been neglected and strongly… abused.. .these past few days. I'll give you something that will help your body recover."

"I don't want it to recover…" Alyra whispered, but her voice was so tiny that the healer did not hear her.

She busied herself some more and was starting to gently feed the girl spoonfuls of various, oddly smelling, oozing liquids, when a soft knock at the door interrupted her. Both Alyra and the medic glanced at who had come to disturb them and while the elf was annoyed by the visitor, the girl was somewhat glad to recognize Nathiel, the human sorcerer that rode with the Hunt, draped in a dark cloak and carrying a wrapped bundle under his arm.

"Forgive me for interrupting, Essea." He bowed lightly and came in. "I have something for Alyrethielle."

The healer grumbled something and resumed giving potions to the girl. One that was red and quite viscous and tasted something like a mix between fire and cool mint went down Alyra's throat and removed all the raw pain that had settled there. Another potion, very liquid and very black, went down without any taste but immediately filled her with a generous wave of peace. The healer had been right: something within her had greatly been affected by the trauma Caranthir had caused and she had not even realized it until this potion dulled the hollow agony that still hid within her soul. She suddenly dreaded having the brew's effects dissipate…

Nathiel stood at the girl's side and waited patiently for Essea to finish giving her everything she thought was needed, staring at his feet the whole time. Alyra studied his face, trying to understand the emotions painted there, but was unable to decide if it was guilt, fear or regret. In the end, the healer mumbled something about going to fetch some food for her patient, before gathering up her vials and leaving the room, shutting the door with more force than was probably necessary.

There was a long moment of silence as Alyra stared at the mage and he kept his eyes resolutely fixed on his boots, refusing to meet her gaze. Eventually, he sighed softly and deposited the wrapped bundle on her bed, right beside her hand.

"I brewed the Witcher potions you asked me for." He said softly, clearing his throat and glancing up at her. "You should know that it was Eredin who authorised me to do so, even encouraged me. All in the hopes of torm-…"

"Tormenting me longer, yes. You've said so already." Alyra cut him off with a low voice. Her throat hurt her no more, but she did not have to do more than whisper: the room was dead-silent. "If he can keep me in good shape longer, he buys himself more time to make me bend to his demands."

The silence was heavy between them. It was Nathiel who broke it.

"He made you the offer… he asked you to ride with him. It means he values your strength, sees potential in what you can do… he made you the offer and you refused… did I not warn you? Did I not tell you it was best if you accepted?"

The gaze she sent him was so cold and furious that he fell silent again.

"I will _never_ ride with the Wild Hunt." She snarled under her breath, but the mage heard her very clearly. "Take your potions. Take them and leave. When I asked for them, I thought I was going to fight. But now I know. Now I understand. I'm not going to fight anymore. I'm going to… I'm going to die. I will die _before I join him_. I do not fear death; I have faced it many times before and many times before I have accepted it. Caranthir helped remind me of that. So I will welcome death with open arms and without fear."

"It is not your death that should worry you." Nathiel said so softly that she almost did not make out his words. He glanced at her briefly, with a look akin to worry, before grabbing the wrapped bundle and turning on his heels to leave the room.

Stunned, she pushed herself up on her elbows. "Nathiel!"

Her cry made him freeze right as he was about to open the door.

"What do you mean by that?"

She saw him sigh. "I've already said too much, I cannot…"

"Answer me." She snarled, struggling out of the bed, her body still aching.

Nathiel glanced back at her. "You may not fear death, but… but you _do_ fear that someone else could die… because of you." He opened the door slowly. "Trust me, Alyra… accept him now… before…"

But he bit back his final words and was gone with a whirl of his dark cloak and she did not follow him, somehow knowing he would not answer her, no matter how much she insisted.

But she understood… yes, she understood. She was right to worry about the ones that were dear to her, apparently: Nathiel was clearly letting on that Eredin could and would go after them to persuade her to join him… but all those she loved where either dead or, as far as the king knew, were considered dead, no? They were safe… no?

Alyra felt cold dread seeping through her soul slowly, spreading through her body like progressing, freezing icicles. She had a terrible feeling about all this…

Essea returned to the room and was starting to protest the fact that the girl was up and out of her bed, but Alyra interrupted her.

"Take me to the arena. I have Aen Elle to fight."

(0)

The healer tried to persuade her to stay, but Alyra was adamant: she did not want to eat, she did not want brews that would heal her… she wanted to go to that arena and fight. No matter how Essea tried to explain that she stood no chance unless she rested, Alyra pushed her aside and made for the door.

What the healer did not understand was this: Alyra did not want to delay the inevitable any more. Healing… eating… sleeping… it was just consumed time that filled the existence between now and when it would all come to an end… to when she would finally die.

So she left the infirmary, stumbling ever so slightly on wavering feet and made her way through familiar corridors, all the way to the heavy double doors that led into the sandy arena. The two guards standing watch at it glanced at her and she saw a glimmer of… was that respect? Fear? Did they think her utterly insane? She did not know… but they stood aside, pushing the doors open and let her through without a word.

She stumbled in, her legs threatening to buck beneath her.

Her green eyes were full of fire and hate and determination… they set, unwavering, on the only person present in the large, circular room.

"Imlerith…" She growled.

The large Aen Elle stared at her, an amused, cold smirk playing with his lips.

"Observant of you."

"Where are the king and… and his mage?" She asked, the violent pain from her night with Caranthir still so vivid that the very thought of him made her flinch.

Imlerith shrugged. "They had… other business to attend to, in another world. Couldn't join you today."

She made a noise that was half-scoff, half bark of wild, mad laugh. A servant came up to her with her twin blades laid down neatly on a silk cushion, but she ignored him altogether, staring intently at Imlerith, who had grabbed for his own blade.

"All for the best, I suppose…" She sneered humorlessly. "We can stop pretending this farce of a game was ever for me to choose my fate and somehow survive any of you… we can stop pretending I'm actually in control of anything that happens to me."

"Caranthir went hard on you, didn't he?" Imlerith scoffed softly, coming slowly closer. She still hadn't taken up her blades and the servant was beginning to look anxious. "Has he broken you yet? Because that would make everything so much easier…"

"I'll die before I break."

"We'll see."

Imlerith moved towards her faster than she could have imagined… or perhaps her exhaustion was slowing her very senses… the servant leapt back, crying out in alarm as she braced for impact… at the last second, her very instincts took over and she found herself lashing out, lighting-quick, bashing the general's blade aside as she tried to slip past him…

But her body was beyond fatigue… it could not keep up…

He moved faster than she did and grabbed her by the arm, swinging her around like a rag doll, sending her flying into the sand. She rolled over herself a few times, trying to reduce the impact and started to struggle up, coughing with a mouthful of dirt, but her was on her in an instant, pinning her head back down into the sad with enough force to make her see stars. His blade lay a way off, long forgotten as he had understood that he did not need it to subdue her.

Alyra howled out ruefully, pushing at his arm, but he batted her feeble attempts aside and grabbed the front of her leather pants roughly, ripping the ties that held them up and pulling until they slipped down her hips, scratching at her skin all the way. She was snapping and snarling, a wild, wounded animal making its last stand, but the elf atop her was far too big and too strong for her to even hope escaping… she tried to wiggle out from under him, but her pinned her legs open with his and she felt him struggling with his own pants, undoing the ties that held them up.

Alyra howled anew, but Imlerith slammed a hand against her chest and she fell silent at once, all air escaping her lungs. He grabbed her body hard and before she could do as much as gasp, his hard member was up against her womanhood. He pushed into her like he had the first time, rough and without warning, drawing a pained cry from her lips.

"You are… nothing more… than a … dh'oine whore…" He snarled into her ear as he mounted her, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh as he held her down. There was pain between her legs, but also a… a growing laughter was filling her throat… she pulled her head back and there was something like a scream of agony, something like a yowl of mirth that escaped her, beyond her control.

She wrapped her legs tight around Imlerith and grabbed at him with her pained hands, pulling herself closer and up to him… she opened her mouth wide and bit him as hard as she could manage, right at the juncture of this neck and shoulder, her teeth sinking angrily into his white linen shirt, all the way into the tender skin beneath.

The general snarled, pushing her off roughly and her head snapped back, mouth full of blood, hitting the ground so hard the world went dark for a moment…

When her sight returned, all she could see was the ceiling of the arena, curved outwardly and… she had not noticed this before, but it was a painted fresco depicting various glorious, violent knight-like battles between numerous enemies… her eyes wandered over it for a moment as she found herself unable to gather her bearings, her mind buzzing and blank… then, she felt a panting, grumbling Imlerith rise from her extenuated body and shout something. She could not make out his words. There was something warm spilling from her cunt, but her brain refused to let her acknowledge what it might be.

In an instant, there were powerful arms grabbing her and lifting her up… her unresponsive feet dragged through the pale sand as she was clumsily carried from the arena, through a pair of wide doors and down a relentless corridor. It seemed to take ages, but when she was finally set down, it was on a dank, damp stone floor in a room that had bars for a door and no light to bring it warmth or life…

There was a distant sound like mad laughter, and it took her quite a while to understand that it was coming from her own lips…

 _Good._ She thought. _Good. Let me the darkness come. Let death come. Let it all end._

 _I've had enough._

(0)

NOTE: I am so sorry for the short chapter. I have lots of ideas still going for this story, but am working long hours of late. 68 hours this week alone… I want to give you guys something to read, so this is all I can write for now. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless and follow Alyra's slow spiral into madness.

Please review, it's what gives me motivation and passion to keep going!


	14. A shift in the wind

NOTE : We've hit the 50 review mark and I am so thankful to all of you! I'm really glad you enjoy the story as much as I enjoy writing it! Keep it up guys, I love reading your opinions and thoughts!

Pikahopp, welcome to the story! Thank you for your concern, this week I work a little bit less so I have time to write and take care of things around the house!

Lucy, this story is dark and foreboding, but the sequel is planned with a lighter note. Or at least, for now…

Kateskates, here you go! A bit more this time around.

Bolondka, I understand. Let's see what you think of this chapter, shall we?

Importchic, it was bit crazier last week, I have less hours this week so I'm taking it easy. Read on to find out what's going to happen!

TheCeneedra, I wholeheartedly agree.

Beespoken, you'll see my friend!

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 _She trudged along through the barren wasteland, buffeted by wind. Her arms were raised to protect her face from the sand and rocks that kept snapping at her like angry birds. The sun was burning hard atop her head and her body ached horribly, exhausted beyond its limits…_

 _She stumbled. Almost fell. Almost._

 _She glanced up at the moon._

 _The night was cool, pressing against her skin. And she was not alone._

' _There is a hardiness in you I did not suspect.'_

 _She turned to the voice. It took her a moment to recognize the man who spoke, because, just for a moment, he looked more like a demon…_

' _Gaunter…'_

 _He smiled an enigmatic smile. 'Your time is almost come.'_

' _I don't understand. I… I'm lost… I can't do this anymore…'_

' _But you must!' He was still smiling, but it was more like an animal snarl now. She backed away slowly, fear seizing her heart._

' _We have a deal, dear Summer Wolf.' He continued, moving towards her as she back away still. 'Unlike a usual contract, for which you'd have to trade your very soul, this time you get to keep it. But if you want to receive what you asked for, you must do as I tell you…'_

 _There was a lot of warning in the voice… she swallowed, her throat thick. The moon seemed to be leering at her and she avoided looking at it._

' _What… what I asked for…' Her lips were parched. She licked them nervously._

' _Yes…' He leered just like the moon. 'You asked to return to your world… and be rid of your captors. Well, if you want to do just that, you'll have to do as I tell you…'_

 _She shook her head slowly. 'Enough… I've had enough… I just want to… to die…'_

 _Gaunter laughed. There was no humor in the sound, only gut-wrenching horror… she felt it seize her being like ice. His face changed ever so slightly and she saw she now longer faced a man, but a creature of immense power and danger…_

' _That's not for you to decide.' He warned coolly. She crumpled on herself, hiding her eyes and ears as to not see and hear him. But his voice came through nonetheless. 'You WILL do as you're told. The time is coming. You will join the Wild Hunt. You will find yourself facing a choice in which you will have no choice. You will join Eredin and you will find do what is needed to rise in his ranks. The higher you rise, the easier it will be to… get that for which you asked. Do you understand?'_

 _She whimpered._

 _She felt him rush towards her, his motion like the howl of gusting wind during a storm._

' _Do you understand?' He roared._

 _She screamed._

 _She did._

 _She understood._

 _(0)_

Alyra woke up with a start, sitting up rigidly, soaked in freezing sweat, trying to gather her bearings. It took her long seconds to remember where she was and why it was so dark, cold and damp: she was still in the dungeon cell where she'd been brought after Imlerith… after Imlerith had his way with her, uncaring that she was unfit to defend herself… he'd probably been beside himself with fury at how she'd bested him in their last matchup… well, he had certainly taken it out on her. Now she was here: her body a mess of pain, lying curled in a tight ball on the hard stone floor, with not so much as an old rag to cover herself from the cold. The humidity seemed to have seeped into her very bones, making every motion pure agony. Her stomach was empty and grumbling with hollow hunger and she could feel an unpleasant ache between her legs.

The girl lay back down slowly, gingerly, on the hard stone ground, curling on herself, seeking warmth. But her eyes stayed wide open, reflecting the distant flicker of a torch somewhere outside her cell. Its light vaguely made it through the iron bars of her door, but there was no warmth to go with the weak flicker. She remained like this for a long time, her mind a blank, empty buzz that wasn't even trying to think anymore. There was nothing left but misery and uncertainty as she wondered what was to happen to her now… if her dream was anything more than a dream and what Gaunter had said was true… well, she would know soon enough…

Time dragged on.

She heard the distant clang of boots. Soldiers. She could make out the distinctive sound of greaves on the stone floor. They marched up to her cell, two of them. One unlocked the door and another threw down something hard and metallic on the ground within her prison. From the smell of it, it was a meal, most of its contents spilling onto the stone floor as the plate clanged.

The soldier growled something in the Elder speech, but she did not grasp his words… or perhaps she simply did not want to understand what he'd snapped at her… they locked the door and marched off and she was alone again. For the longest time, Alyra lay there, blinking in the darkness, moving only because she was shaking from the cold. The food they'd thrown in smelled good at first, making her empty stomach rumble, but she did not move to claim it. Eventually, she seemed to forget it was there altogether and her hunger blended in with the rest of her bodily pain, becoming a distant grumble somewhere in her mind.

The ground was hard. She was cold.

The night dragged on, every hour an eternity of pain.

(0)

She must have dozed off at some point, because when soldiers came anew to unlock her cell door, she was startled into wakefulness, not having heard them arrive. They were holding a torch, its flickering light throwing angry shadows across the walls and they stepped gingerly around the spilled plate of food that was at the entrance, muttering something, but she failed to catch the words.

Two of them came up to her, grabbing her, not ungently, by the arms to haul her up to her feet. There was no strength left in her legs to stand, so they swung her arms over their shoulders and carried her out of the cell between them while the third one lit their way with his torch. Her toes dragged slowly across the stone ground as her head dipped low, the weight of defeat upon her. Alyra did not even want to think where she was headed now.

They carried her up steps and through corridors, but she kept her gaze lowered all the time, her face grim.

Eventually, they crossed a set of large double doors and her toes started to drag through fine, pale sand.

Alyra looked up slowly, expecting to see nothing more than her trio or tormentors staring back at her…

What she saw instead made her throat constrict as though a mailed hand had clenched it, her stomach roiling unpleasantly as she let out a half-articulated howl of surprise and despair…

"Good morning, little bird." Eredin said softly, danger in his voice as he smiled cruelly at her.

She was gaping, unable to find her breath, her mind working overtime to figure something out, hatch some sort of clever plan… and coming up with nothing…

Eventually she just burst into a sob, tears falling from her eyes, uncalled for.

"Mother…"

Eliaine stared back her, struggling slightly in Caranthir's iron grasp, looking quite panicked and harassed. Her hair, usually in a neat bun, was tasseled and unkempt and her eyes were full of hidden terror as she stared at her daughter, not daring to utter a word lest she makes things worse for both of them…

The soldiers holding her up released her and Alyra crumbled onto her hands and knees into the sand, mouth agape, eyes filled with horror as she took in her mother's distress, simply unable to believe she was right here, in Tir nà Lia… atop her messed hair, the Aen Seidhe's dress was thorn, hanging limply in places and there was some sort of odd, terribly black mark sprawling over the flesh of her pale neck like some venomous spider. Alyra was at a loss for words… as was her mother.

It was Eredin who broke the oppressive silence.

"She was not hard to find." He stated without emotion. "All it took was a bit of your blood, taken by Caranthir, and a spell to find the blood of your blood… Ge'els mentioned you said she was dead, but apparently, you lied… clever little bird. Now…"

She growled. Like an animal. "Let her go."

The king chuckled. "Oh, but we will."

Alyra's gaze snapped up to him, disbelieving. By the cold, victorious amusement she saw there, she understood there were going to be condition to her mother's release… of course there would be… this was not going to get better for her…

"You'll notice the mark on her neck." He gestured and Alyra set eyes anew on the black, tattoo-like thing that seemed to crawl around her mother's throat. "It is a curse. Of great power. It is there for you, because of you… right now, it is working its way slowly into this Aen Seidhe's system, threatening to take hold… when it does, it will cause her death." Alyra's eyes bore into his with fury, but Eredin raised a hand. "It will be a long, painful death. Filled with sickness and misery that will stretch for weeks, perhaps months. However… the curse activates if and only if… you do not serve the Wild Hunt."

Comprehension dawned into Alyra's eyes. Of course.

Of course.

Just as she had feared, he was using someone she loved to force her into joining him… what choice did he give her? Join the Hunt or… let her own mother suffer for weeks on end from a curse that would claim her life…

Gaunter's words came back to her…

 _Facing a choice in which you will have no choice…_

Had he known? For his sake, she hoped he hadn't…

Her mother, who knew her all too well, saw the ferocious debate taking place behind her daughter's eyes. She struggled against Caranthir lightly and planted her eyes into her child's, trying to convey all her determination and insistence into this gesture.

"Aly, don't you dare." The elven woman ordered. She had never, ever called her daughter anything else than Alyrethielle or Aly. Never Alyra. "Don't you even think of giving into these… these… monsters. I won't let you. I won't allow it. You fight them, Aly. Don't let them use me to threaten you."

Alyra did not even have enough strength to rise to her own feet. She kneeled in the sand, thick tears spilling down her cheeks, staring at her mother with a tumble of emotion going through her heart.

"Famau… I… I can't…" Her throat was thick and she was unable to utter the words.

Eliaine was crying as well, silent tears streaming from her eyes. "They are evil beings, don't you listen to them… Don't you let them bully you into joining the Hunt… you know what they are, what they do. I forbid you to give in to this…"

Alyra looked over at Eredin, who was staring at her with those glacier eyes, a tiny smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. Behind him, Imlerith had a very similar expression. There was a glint like victory in that gaze, because he knew… yes, he knew… they all knew…

"I…" The words got caught in her tight throat. She stared down at her fists, clenched in the sand, unable to look her mother in the eyes as she said what she had to say. "I'll do it. I'll join the Hunt." Her voice was but a hoarse whisper.

"No!" Eliaine screamed, trying to wrench out of Caranthir's grasp. He held her back roughly and she cried out anew from the sharp pain of his clenching grasp. Alyra's gaze snapped up to him, full of warning and hatred. Eredin gestured to his mage to ease down on their prisoner, which he begrudgingly did, restraining the elven woman more gently with both hands.

"Do you pledge allegiance to me, Eredin Bréacc Glas, as your sworn king and liege lord?" He demanded in a powerful voice that was, as always, like the grating of claws on frost.

Alyra understood that by answering him, she was sealing her mother's safety from the curse, so long as she obeyed. She nodded. "I do."

Eredin smirked wider. "Do you swear to obey the command of those above you as you ride as a soldier of the Wild Hunt? To fight for the Hunt, to raid with the Hunt, to defend the Hunt and to serve in the best interest of the Hunt?"

She snarled her reply. "I do."

"Then so long as uphold these vows and ride as part of the Wild Hunt, the curse that lingers upon the blood of your blood will remain dormant. Should you betray me or any of your fellow riders, the vows shall be broken and the curse will take hold in full, running its course until the death of its host. Do you understand?"

"I do."

There was crushing defeat in her voice and Alyra stared down at her hands anew, her head hanging low. She hated herself… hated that they had pushed her into a corner like this… that because of her, her mother was in mortal danger… that she was going to have to serve and obey these monsters she so despised, because of a long series of unfortunate events that had inevitably led her to this moment.

Eredin turned to Caranthir.

"Release her and let her say her farewells. Then, bring her back to her world."

The mage nodded and let go of Eliaine, who shrugged out of his grasp and rushed to her daughter, stumbling over her thorn dress in the sand, before collapsing to her knees in front of her only child, pulling her into a crushing hug. Alyra held her mother tight, tears still spilling down her cheeks, her voice caught in her throat. The warmth and familiar perfume of this embrace was incredibly reassuring, bringing back a flood of good emotions and it broke her heart to know she would have to let it all go in just a moment.

"It's not your fault… don't… don't punish yourself, don't worry…" Eliaine was mumbling as she held her daughter tight, stroking her tangled hair, somehow knowing that Alyra has suffered immensely these past days. "I'll be okay, I'll figure something out, don't worry… my sweet, tiny summer wolf…"

Alyra found her voice and pulled her mother closer as she heard Caranthir move towards them. She knew that her time was short. She had to act.

"Listen to me." She whispered into her mother's ear intently. "Find Letho. If… if he's still alive… if not, look for Lambert. School of the Wolf. Find yourself a Witcher… they'll be able to help… they have to…" She felt her mother nod. "And get out of Novigrad!"

Caranthir pulled Eliaine away from her daughter roughly and, lacking the strength to hold on, Alyra let her go.

"I love you, Aly. Be brave." Her mother whispered as the mage grumbled a spell and a swirling portal opened near them.

"I love you too…" Alyra answered, but her throat was too tight for the words to make it out. She was only able to mouth them as her mother was dragged through the portal and gone… forever…

An eerie silence fell over the arena when the portal closed. The tears had dried on Alyra's cheeks, leaving behind dirty streaks and she sat back on her legs, mentally and physically exhausted. Her heart was engorged, filled with pain and misery… she raised her eyes wearily to the king, who supported her gaze without blinking. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally started walking towards her.

"It is so easy to break your kind, when your weaknesses are so frighteningly obvious. You should have accepted to ride with the Wild Hunt sooner. You've no one to blame but yourself for your mother's situation." He stated coolly, with a haughty expression and, as much as she wanted to throw the responsibility onto him, she knew he was at least partially right. She should have listened to Nathiel, who'd obviously endured something similar, and joined Eredin before someone she loved suffered for it. "Put that behind yourself. You belong to us, for as long as you draw breath…Now…Given your extremely… proficient attributes in combat, I'm making the immediate choice of promoting you to Lieutenant and placing upon you the responsibility of training soldiers in combat similar to your own learned technique."

Alyra nodded, resisting the urge to shrug and tell the king to go fuck himself. "Yes, my king."

The words felt like poison in her mouth. Eredin seemed amused by her compliance.

"What is more," He continued. "I take you as my concubine. You will have quarters in my palace and will share my bed when I will tell you to. Do you understand?"

She shivered from rage, glancing up at him. Eredin was staring at her, watching carefully for any sign of disobedience, just daring her to defy him…

"I do… my king…" She felt as though she was going to be sick. Her empty stomach was roiling angrily and she was shaking from supressed fury. But her face remained placid, betraying no emotion. She'd endured hell at their hands already. It was going to take a lot more to make her break her vows and sentence her own mother to death.

Eredin smirked cruelly and gestured. The large double doors behind her opened at once and a pair of guards marched in briskly. She heard the clanking of their armor behind her.

"Take Alyrethielle to the guest quarters of my palace and call for a healer and mage to tend to her wounds and restore her health. I want her fully recovered within the next few days." The king ordered with a voice that left no room for discussion

The guards bowed and mumbled approval, grabbing her by the arms to haul her up to her feet. Alyra tried to stand on her own, hoping to uphold a least a tidbit of dignity, but her legs shook madly beneath her and she crumbled into the soldiers' grasps, letting them carry her from the arena. She did not look at Caranthir or Imlerith, not wanting to see the look of cruel victory on their faces…

She was taken to the stable, where the soldiers helped her onto a horse, one of them climbing up behind her to steady her as she grasped the saddle's pommel with numb fingers, staring down all the time. They moved out into the streets which, at this late hour of morning, were pretty full of Aen Elle.

Alyra felt their stares. She kept her eyes lowered, her lips pulled back slightly into a snarling grimace, staying deaf to the whispers that followed her through the streets. Hatred, fear and despair gnawed at her heart. She felt like crying… she felt like screaming, like howling… like running until she could run no more, far, far away from this nightmare she was trapped in…

Because it was a nightmare… how could it be anything more? She would wake up, and all would be well… she would wake up and none of this will have ever happened, her mother would be safe, her body would be well and unviolated, her mind would be full of courage, free of horror…

How she wanted to wake…

But it kept going.

They trotted through the streets, the horses snorting as the crowd parted to let them through, until they reached the king's palace. From there, she was eased from the horse and harried through the vast elven keep, through twisting corridors, all the way to an intricate, carved set out double doors, which were pushed open to reveal a vast room. Perhaps it was because she was so lost in her own agony, but Alyra failed to notice the gentleness with which the guards handled her… they placed her into the large bed that stood against one of the wall, laying her softly down onto the furs, before bowing slightly and backing out of them room.

But she noticed none of this. She just felt like crying, but did not have the strength or tears for that anymore…

Time passed… a lot of time or a little time, she did not know… but suddenly the door was opening again and two people walked in briskly, hushing an argument of which she could not help but catch a few words.

"I _did_ warn her…" A familiar male voice hissed.

An angry tsk responded. "I can't believe they did that to her moth-…" It was a woman's voice.

"Enough." The male responded. "Let's just get her well."

Both newcomers came into her view as she kept staring at the ceiling. She recognized the healer from the infirmary, Essea, and Imlerith's mage… Nathiel…

The stared at her, browns furrowed in worry.

"She's in shock." Essea stated after a long pause.

"I'm not in shock." Alyra snapped coldly, her eyes finally moving, coming to rest with hardness on Nathiel, who glanced away at once.

The healer shuffled restlessly and said something about fetching her brews, backing from the room rapidly and leaving the mage alone with the girl.

The silence was so heavy Alyra could almost feel it pressing against her chest. It lasted for an eternity and she knew very well that Nathiel would not be the once to break it.

So she did.

"Who did they take from you?"

Her words rang through the room like an echo. The mage's eyes filled with agony. She saw the pain there, clear as day. His answer came slowly, in a voice so soft she had to strain to hear it, even in the total silence.

"Her name was… is… Evelynne." His eyes found hers, swimming with pain and she held his gaze, sharing what he felt. It was as though they were holding hands, drowning in a sea in storm, afraid to perish alone. "The Hunt came to the village where we lived… I defended her and the people there, holding my own against their best mages, against Caranthir himself, even if just for a while… Eredin noticed me. He wanted me to return with them, to join them… I refused…" His voice threatened to break. "They dragged me back with them anyways… and Evelynne too… they… they placed a curse on her and she began suffering… her body became ill and… she started to die, but slowly… so slowly… Evey begged me not to give in, not to join them… she said… she said it was against everything we stood for, everything I was… she told me to let her… _to let her die_ … but I… I couldn't…"

The tears fell from his eyes silently, unbidden.

Still Alyra held his gaze, her own stare dry, but understanding of his pain.

There was a long pause as Nathiel could not bring himself to continue.

"How long… how long ago was this?" Alyra finally questioned, her voice a whisper.

"Years… I do not know. I do not want to know." Nathiel shook his head slowly. "I dare not find out where she is… if she is still alive… if I betray the Hunt, the curse will resume and it will not be stopped again… Evey will die because of me…"

Alyra sighed deeply, a hurricane of emotions running through her… it seemed that no matter what choice she made, someone somewhere would suffer for it, be it herself or someone she cared for. She'd chosen to give into the king's demands, saving her mother from a terrible death, but condemning herself to a life of servitude and evil. On top of it, her decision to join the Hunt had gone against what her mother believed in and against what she wanted for her daughter, bringing her misery all the same… and now, Alyra could not know what was going to happen to her mother… was she still alright? Was she still alive in the violent world that she inhabited?

She'd never know if something else had claimed Eliaine and if she could leave the Hunt without activating the curse… just like Nathiel did not know if his beloved Evelynne was still breathing, alone in their world, out there in the vast unknown…

And then there was Gaunter O'Dimm and the very strange deal they had struck… had he played her false? Was in league with Eredin? Somehow it didn't feel like he was… he spoke of the king with too much contempt… then, had he known what was going to happen to her? Did he see events beyond those in play right now? Did he see the path through which all of this would lead her?

If so, did that path advantage her, or him? Alyra had the distinct feeling that she was no more than a pawn… she thought she had choices to make, but in truth a path was already laid out for her and for everyone around her and it was just a question of doing the right thing at the right time in order for everything to play out as it was meant to…

In that case, what was she to do? What was she to do with this illusion of choice that taunted her, laughing at her inability to see the complexity of the universe as it unfolded around her, a million decisions merging into a single, predefined one…?

She looked at Nathiel.

"You tried to warn me."

The mage nodded sadly. "I did not dare say more… I feared that… I feared it would mean I had betrayed the Hunt and…" He looked at her with eyes that begged for apology. "I'm sorry, I should have…I should have said more…"

She shook her head slowly. "No." Her face hardened slightly. "No. _I should have listened._ You warned me and I thought myself above their schemes… I thought myself better and smarter than them… I was wrong. Many minds working against a single one will always win. Unity far beyond single strength. I dug my own grave…"

Nathiel nodded anew, understanding her words all too well.

After a long moment of silence, as they heard Essea's distant footsteps drawing closer, meaning she was returning with her potions, the mage finally spoke up anew.

"What will you do now?"

Alyra thought on it for a few seconds.

"I'm going to do as I am told." She answered "I am going to obey king Eredin and ride with the Wild Hunt. Until further events unfold and until I find myself in a position where I will do that _no more_."

Her words were soft, but deadly. Nathiel looked at her with eyes filled with fear, but with a very, very distant glint of admiration.

(0)

Nathiel cast a spell that filled her body with a pleasant warmth, telling her it was going to help her damaged tissues heal. Meanwhile, Essea supplied her with a thick sort of soup, full of bits of meat and vegetables, ordering her to eat. Alyra's stomach was tied in knots, but she knew herself to be starving, so she slowly ate the broth, chewing lengthy through the chunks of food that floated in it. It filled her belly and she felt slightly better after the bowl was empty.

Essea had brought in more potions and was giving them to the girl one by one, explaining briefly what each would do. One would help her body heal along with Nathiel's spell. Another would alleviate the magic damage that had been done to her through the spells she'd used and that had been used on her. Yet another was there to soothe her nerves, numbing her anxiety and calming her mind. Alyra hesitated to take it, having no desire to be drugged and vulnerable in this world, but the healer reassured her: the effects were not so powerful that she could not overcome them should the need arise.

However, she would also have to take a potion that would plunge her into a deep, dreamless sleep. This made Alyra even more uncomfortable.

"I'll stand guard over you, if you wish." Nathiel proposed softly when she voiced her dislike over being forced to sleep.

She considered him a moment and finally, nodded.

"How long will I sleep?" She asked nervously.

"I'll give you enough for ten to twelve hours." Essea answered, already pouring the thick liquid into a small, silver cup. "After that I'll return and tend to you anew; make sure you eat and drink. Then you'll have to sleep some more. Until I deem you're well enough to… to begin serving the Hunt."

Alyra nodded slowly, not failing to notice the grimace that passed over the healer's face at the mention of the Wild Hunt.

She took the silver cup handed to her and knocked back the copious liquid within, shivering at the odd, bitter taste. The girl started to lay back down slowly and found her eyelids were suddenly so very, very heavy…

She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

There were no dreams.

(0)

That's it for now my friends! Please review and let me know your thoughts!


	15. Snap and snarl, Aete Bleidd

Lucy, it really warmed my heart to hear you're that happy when I update. I'm glad you find my OC characters interesting and solid, it's always been something I've had trouble with. It helps that I listen to certain types of music for certain scenes, it helps me convey the right emotions.

Bolondka, I don't know whether I should be glad or alarmed that I cause such a crisis in you! I suppose the goal of any author is to create solid emotions in their reader, but I feel strange knowing you're perturbed. So I'm basically glad my story and characters are solid enough, but distressed that you feel like that reading me. I love your comments, they shed a new light on what some of my readers feel. Thank you and although I can say Alyra's torment may be lessened, it is quite unfortunately far from over.

Kateskates, yeah, I suppose it wasn't hard to guess her mom would be dragged into this. Glad to see I stand out from the masses. I started writing this story because I couldn't find anything quite like it.

Importchic, you're very good at seeing the tidbit of positive in the storm of negative! Not unlike Alyra! Gotta make the most of what you've got.

(0)

Her eyes opened slowly and she found herself blinking to fight back the bright light that pooled through the open window and right onto her face, where she lay on the soft bed.

Alyra pushed herself up with a groan, her body still aching slightly, but feeling remarkably stronger than it had a few days ago.

Had it been days? Or a week? Or more?

She found she was not sure. She's been trapped in a haze of brief periods of wakefulness, during which Nathiel and Essea would almost force-feed her to make sure she was no longer starved, before pushing spells and medicine down her throat like some goose's to make sure she collapsed into dreamless rest once again.

She knew it was for her good. It did not stop her from hating those long lapses of darkness that filled her days.

Then again… once she was recovered, could she hope for something she would like any more?

Alyra did not think so.

"Good morning." Nathiel greeted softly, rising from the armchair in the corner of the vast room, where he'd been reading a large, leather-bound book while standing guard over her as he had promised. She smiled softly, sadly, and swung her legs over the side of the bed with another gentle groan. She'd been dressed in a soft, silken gown to sleep and found the material was as delicate as feathers against her skin, slipping awkwardly along her body as she moved.

The mage was at her side at once, worry etched into his handsome face, his hands reaching for her shoulders as though to stop her.

She but glanced at him and he halted his motion at once, standing back with an awkward cough.

Alyra turned her attention back to her attempt at standing: she felt the cool stone beneath her feet and pressed her toes into it, testing her weight onto her legs slowly. She had barely begun lifting herself up that her muscles were trembling and aching, but she kept going, breathing slowly and carefully as she rose to swaying feet.

It took a moment, but she was finally standing, slightly dizzy but unassisted. She blinked the black dots out of her eyes and breathed in deeply, ignoring the general exhaustion that seemed to gnaw at her very being.

"How… how long has it been?" Her voice was scratchy, like something ill, and she cleared her throat with a small growl.

"A little more than a week." Nathiel answered softly, watching her intently. "How do you feel?"

"Like shit."

"Then you should lie back down. I can fetch Essea, she's not far… she can get you some food and… and another dose of the sleeping droug-…"

"No." Alyra shook her head, her voice gentle but firm. "I've had enough of sleep. I need to… I need to…"

But she did not know what she needed, or what she wanted.

To begin her new nightmare of a life in Tir nà Lia? To teach black-clad soldiers of the Wild Hunt to fight like she did, so they might better murder inhabitants of a hundred worlds? To please the king when he called on her, as though she was some beaten dog? To exists day-by-day with a hole in her chest where once her heart had been, with nothing but the prospect of eventual death to look forward to?

Nathiel was gazing at her with a heavy look in his eyes. She met his stare and understood that he knew exactly how she felt, because he'd felt the same way some time ago, when his own life was stolen from him.

"Does it ever get better?" She asked in a dead whisper, her legs still shaking beneath her as she grabbed one of the four bed posts to steady herself. "Does it ever stop… haunting you?"

The mage glanced down. "No." He said sadly. Then his gaze rose again, stronger. "But I am not you. I do not have your fire, or your fury. What has applied to me all these years… I… I don't think it applies to you."

She nodded. Those words brought her some measure of comfort, small as it may be. They re-ignited the flame within her.

"I'll go get Essea…" Nathiel said and when Alyra gave him a warning glance, he raised a hand in defence. "No more sleeping, I swear! She'll have some strengthening droughts to give you that'll help keep you on your feet. The king has asked that you be outfitted for suitable armor as soon as you woke, and I'd rather not keep him waiting…"

With that, the mage was gone and Alyra found herself alone in her new, spacious quarters. She sighed and glanced around, noting the vast wooden bed she'd slept on, the ceiling-high bookcases that rose like watchtowers on either side of the open window and the large dresser standing against the far wall, near the stone fireplace, which was only filled with dying embers. To her right, near the bed, was another door and she assumed it led to a bath chamber, a bit like it had in the room in Imlerith's palace. Beside the door stood a low commode with a large mirror hanging over it.

She decided to make her way to it and asses her physical state.

It was no easy task: the commode was but a few strides away, but her legs were shaking and exhausted and she found she had to aid herself along the wall to slowly reach it, taking small and careful steps. The short walk left her grimacing from the residue of pain that had settled in her every joint and panting slightly from the effort. She wondered why so she was feeling so much worse for the wear, considering she hadn't taken a beating in a week and a half…

Alyra pressed her hands onto the commode, setting her weight onto it to aid her legs and glanced up at herself with a long sigh.

The face that stared back at her was pale, tiered and worn. Her cheeks were less full than she could remember and her shoulder blades were showing more than before, it was sure. The long scar along her face and the one left by Imlerith's blade seemed to glow red against the white of her flesh, more aggressively visible than she could remember. Her dark hair was messy and brittle and there was a sunken, tiered look to her green eyes. She could see that she'd lost weight, although not a lot of it, but her muscles had suffered: there had been a chiseled definition to her body before, courtesy of a long life on the road, fighting nearly every day. Now her arms seemed smaller and her body felt weaker, as though she was less in control of her own movements…

As she gazed at herself, she heard the sound of footsteps behind her so she turned her head to see who was about to enter the room.

At the same time, there was a loud clap, like the sound of two hands hitting together.

The footsteps stopped at once and the air felt suddenly very still, as though a blanket of silence had fallen over the world. Alarmed, Alyra looked around herself in a panic and her eyes darted to the mirror…

She screamed, her heart leaping from her chest as she pushed herself back violently off the commode and away from the mirror, her feet shuffling to steady her so she wouldn't fall flat on her ass as she stared at the reflection, which was no longer her own… it took her but a split second to recognize Gaunter O'Dimm, who was staring at her with an amused smirk, danger sparkling in his dark eyes…

Alyra found it did not calm her to have recognized the intruder…

"Glad to see you awake, Summer Wolf! How _are_ you feeling?" The merchant of mirrors asked jovially, smiling pleasantly at her through the looking glass.

For the next few seconds she mumbled, trying to find her voice as she blinked and stared at Gaunter, her brain trying to accept what was happening and what she was seeing. Finally, words returned to her.

"You!" She exclaimed. Her tone very well conveyed the hurricane of emotions that this strange man made her feel: the rage at the possibility that he'd known her mother would be used against her, the fear of what he was capable of doing, the exasperation at being played like a pawn and the hatred of his manipulative ways, which had landed her in a lot of trouble…

"Me." Gaunter shrugged, still smiling. "I gather you have a few complaints to voice. I'll gladly hear them out."

She did not know where to start. Alyra opened her mouth to rage at him, but paused: how much shit could she really rain on him before he turned nasty and dangerous again? She decided to play it cautiously.

"You… did you know they would go after my mother?" It was the first question she needed answered: it was the most important one and would determine just what they relationship in this sordid affair was.

Gaunter looked at her seriously. "No. I did not." She did not know whether it relieved her to hear those words or if it just made things worse. "I knew you would be presented with a choice that you could not refuse and that it would lead you to join the Wild Hunt. Unfortunately, although I am capable of glimpsing the twisty paths destiny can sometimes take, I am unable to decipher its more… delicate details."

She nodded, a concerned look on her face. Alright, she would accept that… for now…

"The deal we made…" She hesitated. "You said I'd be able to go back home. That I'd be rid of Eredin and… and his generals. But I don't see… I can't… how…"

She tried to convey the desperate feeling the whole situation gave her: how could she ever hope to go back to her world, to be free, with the curse hanging over her mother's head? Gaunter nodded gravely, seeming to understand her unspoken words.

"As I just said, I can glimpse the workings of the paths that lead us forward into the future. This is what I saw for you: there was no way out of this world for you. None. You were destined to join the Wild Hunt from the moment you met that mage in the decrepit tavern in southern Velen and there was no escaping it. However…" He moved forward a bit and she could see him pressing against the mirror as the glass shifted and shimmered and she understood he was going to join her in the room. She backed up at once. "However, I can also see what's in store for our dear moron of a king… you see, a _certain someone_ he is after is about to return into his line of sight and he will give chase to this being in the hopes of catching her. And if certain… _events_ play out accordingly, he will fail. And he will die. And when that happens, you will be free of him."

He stepped through the mirror and into the room as though he was passing through a door. Alyra lacked the strength to back up any further so she stopped moving, staring at him with wide eyes, trying to hide her fear.

"You've said this before…"She nodded slowly. "This being he's after… she'll kill him?"

"That I am not sure of. That specific being is very special and very powerful and I cannot glimpse her path like I can another's. But one thing is certain: in order for her to successfully rid the world of Eredin, she will need a few… pushes, shall we say, in the right direction. You will give those pushes, because I cannot interfere with her path."

Alyra nodded a bit more energetically. "And then I'll be free? I'll be able to go back home?"

Gaunter smiled enigmatically. "Yes, Summer Wolf. Until that time, you must regain your strength and carve yourself a place in this cruel world. Show them your fire. Snap and snarl until they dare not look you in the eyes without bowing. The more respect you convey, the easier it will be for you to carry out the tasks I set for you."

The air seemed to come alive again, slowly. Gaunter was vanishing from her very sight, as though he was being erased by the returning reality.

"Va fail, Aëte Bleidd."

Alyra blinked and there was no one in front of her. Her reflection had returned to her own, showing a harried, pale young woman that was panting as though she had a just sprinted a mile.

The footsteps behind her resumed and within seconds, Essea and Nathiel had entered the room, oblivious to the conversation she'd just had with a being from another world. The healer noted her patient standing in the center of the room, staring at her own reflection with awe and she rushed forward at once, seizing Alyra before she crumbled. Right on time too, because the girl's legs seemed to fold underneath her the moment the elven woman grasped her, finally having reached their limit. Nathiel rushed forward to help bring her to the bed and Essea looked at him grumpily.

"You shouldn't have let her get up." She snapped coolly as they lay the tiered girl onto the bed.

"As if I could have stopped her…"

Essea harrumphed, but said no more, knowing he was right. Alyra watched her with tiered, weary eyes as she pulled new potions from the pouch around her waist and began her diagnostic.

"The spell work you used in your last fights against the generals caused quite a ripple through your body. It may not have seemed like it, but it was continuously burning through your system, damaging it slowly more and more as you tried to heal, but couldn't… thankfully, Nathiel here saw what was happening and was able to stop and then reverse the process, possibly saving your life. You've never been trained as a mage, have you?" Essea stared at her pointedly and Alyra shook her head slowly, wondering if she should be thankful to the mage for saving her life or angry with him at forcing her to continue with this nightmare. The healer sighed. "Using magic that powerful without proper control of the Force can destroy a being's body and mind… what you did was reckless, although I'll admit that, from what I heard, it was impressive. You should abstain from using magic for a time, although I think those Witcher signs you use are pretty harmless and…"

"Wait…" Alyra frowned. "You heard about my fight? How come? And from who?"

Essea smiled enigmatically as she prepared a spoonful of potion. "There were guards in the arena… they saw what happened and believe me, in Tir nà Lia, where nothing exciting happens very often, events like that travel pretty fast. You've been the talk of the town since they day you've arrived and I daresay you've found yourself a hefty group of individuals who admire your cunning and determination. Now, swallow this, it'll help the remains of potion and healing magic to leave your system. Your joints must be painful and stiff from all those brews rushing through your body…"

Alyra swallowed what she was being given without a word, thinking back on the attitude of the soldiers and Aen Elle she had encountered here. Sure, some of them had been hostile and cold, but others had seemed kind and fascinated with her… she hadn't quite paid attention, but now that she thought back on it, it seemed quite obvious.

"This one now will restore your strength. You've rested for nearly a fortnight but your body has had a lot of healing to do. You should feel much better now…"

Indeed, she did. The moment she swallow the blood-red potion, warmth spread through her chest and Alyra felt all exhaustion leave her limbs almost at once. Her muscles were weaker than before due to her prolonged rest and lack of proper nourishment, but the difference seemed trivial now.

Essea pulled two more bottles from her pouch and handed them to the girl. "Nathiel has brewed you diluted Witcher potions, which he said you'd asked for. I'd advise you to refrain from taking them for the next few days to allow your body a break from potions and enhancements, but I'd rather you have them, in case…"

She glanced sideways at the mage, who shuffled closer and looked at Alyra rather gravely.

"Once you're outfitted with armor, you're to begin training a squadron of soldiers. King Eredin has instructed that you may refuse whomever you think unfit to fight in your peculiar style of combat, but that you should build yourself a commando of at least a dozen warriors. You will be considered for Wild Hunt raids depending on the outcome of those training sessions, which means he'll decide when and where to use and place you and those who fight like you once he has seen the results you will yield." Nathiel explained softly.

Alyra nodded briefly. He'd said it in a very businesslike tone, much unlike the way he usually spoke. Before she could ask, he continued.

"There are those who admire you, yes (he glanced at Essea, who was looking resolutely away), but there are those who will mock you… well, because…" He looked down and she understood.

It sent a cold wave through her being, as if ice had flown through her veins.

"Because I let the king and Imlerith fucked me like a common whore." Her words were stone-cold and devoid of emotion. She was somewhat glad to find they did not stir anything within her… perhaps it meant she would be able to deal with all this, in the end… perhaps she would pull through.

Both Essea and Nathiel said nothing, looking embarrassed.

The silence was crushing, but Alyra felt nothing but hard determination. No fear. No pain. No regret.

She knew what she had to do now and she would do it.

Gaunter's vague, distant promise of freedom shone somewhere along her path like an ephemeral light of hope. There was an exit, a possibility she would be free of this horrid world one day…. When? She did not know. It did not matter.

She knew what she had to do and she would do it.

The girl swung her legs from the bed, sitting up and rose after a few seconds, steady on her feet. Nathiel glanced at her worriedly, but Essea nodded resolutely, a hard look on her face.

"Right." She clapped her hands. "I'll have a bath drawn and once you're washed the armor smith will come to take your measurements and prepare armor for you."

Alyra glanced at her. "Is it possible to have a leatherworker as well? I'm not going to be wearing the heavy plate the Hunt usually wears: it interferes with my fighting style. I need light armor."

The healer nodded and retreated from the room, taking Nathiel with her, who still looked worried.

(0)

She bathed in the huge stone tub in the adjacent room after it had been filled with fragrant water and soap. It felt good to wash, as though she was drawing a new page in her life: a fresh page, devoid of bad things and horror. Alyra knew that feeling was fleeting and untrue, but it felt good to wallow in the hot water nonetheless.

When she was done, a timid servant came to dry her with a thick, soft towel, which she wrapped around herself and strode back into her bedroom in. Her body felt stronger and surer with every moment and she knew that she could not, even for a second, hesitate or appear weak in front of anyone in this world. If what Essea and Nathiel said was true and she was the talk of the town, a single moment of feebleness could mean she found herself surrounded by enemies. She needed to be hard as stone, cold as ice, and filled with a fire that could burn through anything.

Alyra smirked, her chest swelling with a confidence she had not felt in weeks.

There were two elven males awaiting in her room and they bowed lightly when she joined them, their eyes glinting with curiosity.

"Lady Alyra." The tallest one said loftily, smiling as he stood straight. "I am Rivorn, master armor smith, here to serve."

"And I am Thonir, master leatherworker. You asked to see me as well, my lady?"

She stared at them with hard eyes and their leisurely airs quickly vanished, replaced by a bit more respect.

After a moment, she spoke.

"I did, master Thonir. You see, I'm no common Wild Hunt brute, as my composition may suggest. I'm acquainted to fighting in leather armor that does not impede my speed and compliments my motion. Therefore, I will obviously not be wearing the usual plate armor."

Rivorn frowned lightly. "My lady, the king usually… insists that his soldiers wear similar garb that is decorated in the fashion of the Hunt…"

"You can decorate the armor however you please, so long as it meets my weight requirements and does not impede my movements. As for the king…" Alyra was glad to see that when she glanced at the armor smith, he did not support her gaze. "He has asked that I train his soldiers in my fighting style, as it has obviously impressed him the times we fought and I bested him and his generals (Ha! Let them talk some more about that, she thought.). I obviously cannot do that if I'm weighted down by thirty stone of plate armor. I will still need your mastery, for I do greatly appreciate having addition protection in the form of chainmail."

At those words, Rivorn's eyes lit up, as he was obviously intrigued by her proposal, not used to doing much more than his standard armor and weapons.

"A challenge!" He grinned and glanced at Thonir, who seemed as curious. "You wish the chainmail to cover the leather, or…?"

"If it can be invisible, it would be best." She stated. The armor smith seemed somewhat put out that his work would be unseen. "But it needs to be exceedingly light, perhaps lighter than anything you've ever forged. Can you achieve something like that?"

Rivorn thought on that and some of his fire returned. "I will do my best, my lady. It will be quite unlike anything I've ever done, but I have tomes, old techniques, lost to the world…"

"Good." She stated. "What do you need?"

It was Thonir who spoke up. "Your measurements, my lady. And all the specifics, such as the weight, pieces and details of the armor. I'll work out how to incorporate the chainmail with Rivorn."

She nodded and, without so much as an ounce of hesitation or shame, dropped her towel from the body and to the floor. She saw both men's eyes dart to her curves as though magnetically drawn to them, but they immediately looked away and grabbed for measuring tapes and rolls of parchments from their pouches as though the sight of the naked half-elf before them stirred no unclean thoughts in their mind.

 _Good._ She thought. _Let them think that what happened between me, their king and Imlerith did not touch me, did not affect me…_

They measured her every inch, from the width of her shoulders to the length of her feet and she dictated the specific details of her armor. It would be black to match the Hunt's style, of course, but she had free reign over every other aspect, so she let her imagination run wild and asked for everything she'd never thought she could have in an armor. It had not been possible to get anything so exactly to her liking in her world, but these two seemed versed in their arts and she hoped they would deliver a product that would be beyond her expectations.

She was stuck here, a prisoner without a prison…

She might as well make the most of the services offered to her.

(0)

For the meantime, her own clothes were brought back to her. Alyra donned them, appreciating just how much of a beating they had taken in her short time here, showing signs of where they had been fixed with different thread and material. Hopefully, her new armor would be just as comfortable and light as her old one was…

Alyra was more surprised by the fact that her blades were given to her as well: both were brought in by a servant in their sheathes and she buckled them to her hips at once, appreciating their comforting weight at her sides. Her elven bow, which she had not seen since she'd set foot in Tir nà Lia, and quiver of arrows were brought as well, polished and cleaned, ready for her use.

She strapped the quiver to her back where it fit snuggly, positioned in such a way that it did not impede any of her motions and she swung the bow over it, leaving it there. The bottom of the quiver was outfitted with a small magnetic stone, which held the arrows in place silently even when she moved and pirouetted in combat. Alyra knew that she was now authorized to be armed for the very simple reason that Eredin knew damn well she was not stupid enough to use her weapons to fight her way out, betraying her vows and sentencing her mother to death.

That notion made her feel a mixture of anger and despair, but she pushed those feelings aside and stepped out of her room, where Nathiel was waiting for her anxiously.

"Hello!" He looked her up and down appreciatively and Alyra found herself smirking slightly: if the mage found her intimidating in armor and armed, the others should as well. "I'm to escort you to the training grounds. I'll be your guide around the city for the days to come, until… until you think you know your way around well enough…"

It was obvious he wanted her to take all the time she needed to become accustomed to the city. For the first time, Alyra found herself thinking that being a mage in the service of Imlerith had to be a pretty displeasing job for someone like Nathiel. She nodded at him and they set out through the stone palace.

"You'll also be given a horse from the king's own stables!" He added, smiling slightly when he saw the news pleased her. "You'll get to pick any which one you want. They're all black, of course…" Then he cleared his throat with a nervous glance her way. "The king has also commanded… asked that you sup with him this evening, after your training session…"

Those words ripped any happy feeling she had right out of her chest and she felt her face grow stony… right… she had almost forgot that Eredin had ordered her to be his concubine and basically his slave for an undetermined amount of time… it did not gladden her that he wanted to see her so soon after she'd woken, but Alyra suspected that it would simply never gladden her that he wanted to see her.

They made their way out of the palace and for the first time, the girl paid attention to the Aen Elle they passed: every single one looked at her with unveiled curiosity and she noticed that more than half of those they passed bowed their heads with quiet respect. She saw a few sneers and unpleasant grimaces flash at her as well, but met them with hard, indifferent glances that made them ebb away fast enough.

She was a Wolf, after all. As Gaunter had advised, she would snap and snarl until everyone in this world knew better than to go against her.

The palace was in the centre of the city and when they came out onto the busy street, she noticed that the sun was fairly high in the sky, indicating that the morning had advanced quite lately. Two black horses stood nearby, saddled and silent, ready for their use and they mounted up at once, Alyra appreciating how nice it felt to be in a saddle again… on her own and of her own free will, this time.

Nathiel glanced sideways at her as they set out and she followed his pace through the streets. "This horse is temporary, of course… as I said, you'll get to pick your own, but on another day, when we have more time. The king was adamant: he wanted you to begin training soldiers as quickly as possible."

She found this odd, even if she did not say anything. Why the sudden rush? Did it have anything to do with the being Gaunter had told her about? The one who carried the Elder Blood and who Eredin was so determined to capture?

They rode through the streets, all the way to the outskirts of the city, where she saw a vast encampment spread out for miles into the valley. Alyra stared at it with open curiosity, not having seen it before: there were military tents and palisades, with large stone stables for the horses, not unlike the Nilfgaardian bivouacs she had seen in her own world. Just like with the imperial soldiers, there was a prominent amount of black everywhere… from the tents, to the armors, to the horses and flags that fluttered in the gentle wind. She saw masses of armored soldiers marching across the camps, while others trained with swords, bows and arrows and executed drills under the shouted command of their squadron's leader. As they passed through the camp, many of them stopped what they were doing to glance at this lightly armored half-elf that rode amongst them with her eyes hard as stone and her head held high. She heard them whisper, but did not discern their words… she ignored them, but did not fail to notice that there seemed to be no women amongst the soldiers' ranks.

Sure, there were a few mage females, dressed lightly and practicing spell work, as well as a few girl healers rushing through the tents, but she did not think she saw a single woman dressed in armor, practicing alongside the warriors. Alyra did not know if that frightened her or gave her courage…

Nathiel gestured to an officer as they rode through, who nodded resolutely and shouted something at his squadron. It set out at once, stiffly in formation after the mage and half-elf as they slowed their pace to escort the soldiers. She guessed that it was them she was to begin training and she did not give in to the urge to glance back at then, wishing to show them cold indifference for the time being. Alyra felt sudden anxiousness creeping up to her: how exactly was she to train these men? And what was she to say to them? Would they respect her, fear her? Or would they spit at her face and tell her to go fuck herself?

She'd learned all she knew from her father's guards and then from the various beings she met while on her travels. Forty years of existence had honed her skills as she developed a style that was very much like that of a Witcher, albeit somewhat different because of her use of basic magic and her training with soldiers. She had her own style, which she was incredibly confident in and comfortable with, but she'd never taught it to anyone… where was she to start?

As she wondered, they reached a small area that had been cleared of tents and surrounded with a low stone fence, as to delimit a fighting arena. Nathiel dismounted so she followed his lead and he nodded at her encouragingly, leading her into the small arena as the soldiers that had followed them slowly circled the stone fence, placing themselves all around it to have a good view. They removed their helms and she found herself surrounded by cold, curious faces that stared at her avidly. She glanced around at them, hiding her emotions, but her stomach was roiling unpleasantly and her heart was beating a bit faster, especially when she saw Nathiel nod at her once more, leaving her alone in the arena as he went to station himself between two soldiers around the fence.

There was a lengthy moment of silence as the only sound she heard was that of officers shouting drills within the camp and the distant clang of blades and bowstrings.

Alyra placed her hands and the pommels of her blades, running her gloved fingers over them. The motion seemed to soothe her and gave her courage.

She began.

"King Eredin has asked me to train you lot." Her voice broke the air like the crack of a whip and she was glad to see it was solid, unwavering, and that it carried far out to the soldiers around her. She turned as she spoke, addressing them. "He gave me free reign over who I chose into my squadron, because the fighting style I use is unique and most probably unlike anything you've been taught here. That being said, many of you won't be able to… _would you care to share with the rest of us?_ " She snarled brutally, spinning gracefully on a foot and turning to plant her hard stare on a soldier that had been whispering something to his neighbor as her back was turned.

He seemed to hesitate for the briefest moment, but a look of coy shrewdness appeared on his face as he smirked nastily. "I was just _saying_ , my lady, that perhaps the king gave you free reign over other… _things_ … as well…"

His words sent out a ripple of murmuring and snickering through the ranks, but she smirked right back at him, unamused and with a hint of darkness shining in her eyes.

"You must be referring to the fact that he and his generals fucked me. I should rather say that they raped me, because they needed to be three to beat me into submission and have their way with me, but it's all the same to me." Her words silenced them quickly enough and the soldier that had mocked her looked a bit alarmed. "Whatever you may or may not have heard, you should know that the most important bit of information is this: _they were three against me and did not managed to defeat me until I was wounded and exhausted on the second day_. Take care to remember that next time you think one of your clever little sneers interests me. There's a reason why the king was forced to place a curse on someone I loved in order to assure my obedience: he could have it no other way. Now, shut your trap before I shut it for you and know that the next person who interrupts me I will personally cut into pieces so small they won't be able to find all of them in this sand."

The silence that followed her words was deafening. The soldier she'd responded to looked down, but she did not fail to catch the shimmer of fury in his eyes.

Alyra found she greatly enjoyed this new job of hers, as her words not only impressed the soldiers, but somehow managed to lessen the ache her ordeal had caused her. She suddenly felt as though she was in control of her destiny again, even if she knew that that wasn't quite the case.

"Now…" She continued after her message had settled in somewhat. "As I was saying, my combat style is my own. I've honed it over the years and I can assure you it does not cater to everyone. Many of you simply won't have the speed, or dexterity, or reflexes to do what I do, and as we progress, you'll be asked to return to your former squadrons. If you wish to leave because you don't think the style suits you, or because you think yourself above the teachings of a woman who bested Imlerith, Caranthir and king Eredin, go at once. I don't need useless cunts wasting my time." She paused, but no one moved. Alyra realised it felt quite wonderful to cuss and vent some of her supressed rage. "You might or might not have heard of how I fight, but I believe the best way for you to decide what you think of it is to see it for yourself. Anyone wish to come forth and challenge me?"

She was completely unsurprised to see the soldier that had mocked her clamber over the fence, donning his helm and drawing his blade. Men were so predictable…

"Glad to see you can put your gold where your mouth is, soldier." She sneered, unmoving. "I use Witcher signs during my fighting, which are a basic form of magic. They might not be accessible to everyone here and so I ask you: do you wish I avoid using them while I hand you your ass?"

She heard him swear, his voice muffled by his helm. "Do as you wish…" He growled an unpleasant insult, but she just smirked wider.

He dashed towards her and she slipped into a fighting pose with the grace and swiftness of years upon years of training, feeling all her emotions just fly away. She was finally doing that which she was good at. Finally.

Alyra folded her fingers into Aard as the charging brute howled at her, his blade raised and his heavy feet pounding the sand. He was coming at her with what she considered ridiculous slowness.

The sign, although not at full capacity due to her condition, hit him like a wall of bricks and sent him flying backwards, landing hard on his back. She had not drawn her blades yet and waited for him to rise, not wishing her victory to be attributed to magic. Alyra understood the critical importance of this moment: this was when she cemented herself as someone of power, someone to be feared… no matter if she was forced to be the king's concubine, if she could show them right now that she was a being to be respected, it would protect her forevermore. They would all know that it wasn't because she was weak that she was being held captive…

The soldier raised his heavy blade and came charging anew, albeit more cautiously this time.

Alyra remained still, unarmed, watching him approach with careful eyes. She saw those things that others did not see, those things that would bring her an advantage: how the soldier was putting more weight on his left leg, indicating a weakness in the right, how his blade was held ever so slightly wrong, showing that he'd relied more on brute strength than skill so far in his life… how he favored his right side, even though it was weaker, because he was not left-handed…

Suddenly he was upon her.

Her hands jumped to her blades and withdrew them from their oiled sheathes lightning-fast, without a sound. Alyra pivoted on a single foot, moving right out of the way of his swinging sword, meeting his blow with one of her own. Her first blade blocked him and her second one flashed upwards with liquid precision, catching his helm under the chin, where it bit into the metal and ripped it from his head.

The tip of her sword drew a line of fire along his cheek, missing his eye by a hair and Alyra did not waste a second, twirling around the stumbling soldier to reach his back. Once positioned behind him, her foot swung out and caught him in the hip with a powerful blow, sending him sprawling sideways. She was upon him within a moment, using her body wisely, every motion fluid to minimize the energy wasted by having to stop herself and move in another direction. They all saw that she did not simply move across the arena: she danced through it.

Her knee met his face and the soldier howled out in pain, his face exploding into a bloodied mess, raising his sword nonetheless to slash blindly at her… she slipped sideways again with gentle grace, her blades singing through the air, catching the sunlight in a flash like fire…

She caught him very precisely under one of the plates in his gantlet, sliding her blade into his wrist and cutting him nastily. He was forced to drop his heavy sword with another cry, seizing his wounded arm with his other hand, but before he could so much as breathe anew, her second blade pressed very delicately beneath his exposed chin, forcing him to stop wiggling and look up at her.

The Aen Elle's eyes were free of all contempt, but swimming with terror. She stared back at him for a very brief moment that seemed to last for all eternity, before speaking so softly that she knew only he could hear her.

"I could kill you right here and now, but I won't." Her green eyes were like glaciers and for that instant, she looked uncannily like the king of Tir nà Lia, even if she did not realise it. "Cross me again and you'll find yourself begging that I had."

She lowered her blade and the soldier respectfully lowered his head, accepting defeat without a word.

Alyra turned to gaze at all those who stood around the arena and was pleased to see the brief flash of stunned awe that surrounded her, before it vanished back into polite curiosity as everyone regained their composure.

"Anyone else think themselves better than a half-dh'oine woman?" She howled.

No one peeped a sound. Instead, every soldier surrounding the arena raised a mailed fist to thump it once, hard, against their armored chests, their looks most serious and dutiful. The girl glanced at Nathiel, not understanding this gesture, but when the mage nodded encouragingly, mimicking that she should do the same, she did, her leather-covered fist thumping softly against her chest.

There was a definite air of respect surrounding her and Alyra found she quite enjoyed this whole teaching business.

At any rate, it beat having to repeatedly fight for her life.

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Seven thousand words! I do hope this chapter is long enough for you guys. I write as long as it feels right to include things in a single chapter. I hope you enjoyed the new turn of events and are as eager as I am to see things unfold.

Please review, I love nothing better than reading your comments. I'm always quite nervous that perhaps people won't like what I've written and am quite happy to receive feedback.


	16. My king

NOTE: so sorry for the delay between updates! I'm working a lot and have been away a lot as well, trying to enjoy what's left of this crappy summer. Bear with me guys! Also, if anyone wants to draw some fanart, feel very free to do so! I'd just love to see it!

MaggYme, very glad you enjoy the story, welcome aboard! There's still a long road to travel!

Davs, thank you!

Kateskates, you should be happy with this one, even if it is a bit shorter.

Lucy, the Wolf and the Lion just might cross paths… it might take a little while though!

Bolondka, glad you like the story! Wait and see, I'm slowly weaving everything into place.

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"No! Do it again, like this." She halted the exercise and demonstrated the motion again, swinging her sword with fluidity and grace, slowing her movements so the soldiers could watch carefully. They all stared, brows pearling sweat and frowns upon their faces as they tried to memorise the way she moved to be able to repeat it. "No matter what weapon you fight with, every movement you make needs to be light, fluid. Like water. You are not oxen, to swing hard and bray as you stumble against your enemy. Manage your energy and flow with your attacks. Again!"

The soldiers nodded and stepped back into position, swinging their blades with increasing assurance.

Of the sixty fighters originally part of the squadron brought to her that morning, only seven were left. The day had advanced rapidly, with the sun slowly setting over the horizon, and Alyra had gradually eliminated every candidate that did not suit her needs. Some had stepped down of their own accord, realizing they lacked the grace and patience for her teachings and she had not stopped them, knowing there was no more important quality than the desire to push oneself into the unknown territory of learning. Unsurprisingly, the first ones to go were the big, burly warriors that wielded heavy swords and robust maces. They had rapidly seen that their developed muscles, usually so useful and necessary in combat, were slowing them to a crawl when they were pitted against smaller, faster fighters. It was without shame that they bowed lightly to her and left the field, knowing their place was elsewhere.

Out of the seven remaining, only two were of such massive builds; all others were either smaller, fitter soldiers or tall, lanky and fluid fighters. Alyra knew better than to trust physique alone when judging someone's worth in combat: Letho had been the perfect example of how a man the size of a small horse could move like a bolt of lightning when roused.

The thought of him made her heart clench painfully, but she showed no emotion, regarding the training soldiers placidly, analysing their movements.

Those that had pushed onward with her during the day had quickly shed their heavy plate armor, leaving it just beyond their training area, a heap of sweltering black metal, seeing that it was slowing them down and they found themselves training in nothing but the linen shorts and shirt they wore beneath. A few had insisted on keeping the heavy armor on: they had promptly found themselves boiling under the plate and mail, unable to follow the routine she set for them. They had left with the others as the day progressed.

At the end of her first day, which had been more like an afternoon, she had seven soldiers. Seven fighters that watched her every motion raptly, engrossed in her every word and snapping 'Yes m'am' when she issued command. Of those seven, she knew she would lose more than half. This was only the first day, after all: it would become clear, in the days to come, who could handle the draconic routine of a Witcher in training that she planned on setting for them.

There was the sound of a horse neighing somewhere behind her and she turned, ever so slightly annoyed at being disrupted as she watched the soldiers train.

She saw Nathiel trotting up to her on his black gelding, his eyes sweeping curiously over the scene set before him: the heap of black, plate armor shining under the setting sun; the soldiers, training in nothing but linen shorts and shirts and her, standing over it all with a look of confidence she did not think she had. The mage smiled softly, somewhat reassured by this scene.

"I see you're doing quite well for yourself." He stated as he stopped the tall horse next to her. She nodded.

"This job seems to suit me… under any other circumstance, I'd actually be enjoying it, but…" She let her words fade and saw that Nathiel looked sad at them. The harsh reality in which they existed seemed to suddenly crush down upon them, its forgotten weight returning, unannounced.

"Yes, well…" He cleared his throat, uncomfortable, and his eyes fell on the discarded armor. "Would you like me to ask the leatherworker and armor smith to outfit the soldiers with armor like the one you are to wear? Heavy armor really does not seem to suit your style of combat…"

Alyra shook her head with a gentle smile. "Not yet. It's only the first day and I want to be sure they can withstand the training I have planned for… _why have you stopped?_ " She snapped at the soldiers, noticing they had ceased their training and were staring at her curiously, some of them panting. "I don't remember telling you we were done. Keep moving." The jumped as though electrocuted and immediately fell into their motions, glancing at her only worriedly.

Nathiel seemed torn between amusement and alarm. "You're… strict to say the least. I don't think many of the squadron leaders are anywhere near as harsh as you."

She shrugged. "I'm only as harsh as I need to be. The training I've gone through is harsh, after all, and I haven't been subjected to it in full like a true Witcher is. Surely you know that hundreds of young boys meant to be monster hunters have died during the Trials and the mutations that make a Witcher… The ones who have taught me what they know went easy on me, but I've read about the true techniques and what they encompassed… the books themselves are adamant about how only one boy in five usually survives to adulthood and becomes a Witcher. I won't subject the soldiers to any mutations, because even if I knew how to brew the potions necessary, they are too old to survive them, but if Eredin wants himself a squadron of warriors like Witchers, he'll have something rather similar once I'm done…"

' _But nothing that could ever match a true Witcher…_ ' She added mentally to herself, grim.

Nathiel nodded, suddenly awkward. "Speaking of the king…" She glanced at him tensely. "He is expecting you to sup with him. I came… to fetch you…"

She knew the soldiers were listening intently. It was no secret that she was the king's concubine, she supposed, but she would be damned if that meant she was his obedient whore.

Alyra tsk impatiently. "So be it." She turned to the soldiers. "Enough for tonight. Stretch your muscles appropriately, eat well and rest. Tomorrow we will begin working on endurance running and you'd best be in shape, because today will seem like child's play in comparison. If any of you don't show in the morning, I'll take it as a sign that you no longer want to be part of this squadron and you will not be accepted again. You are dismissed."

A chorus of "Yes m'am!" snapped smartly through the air as the fighters saluted her stiffly. Alyra turned away and followed Nathiel to the horse saddled for her, before mounting up and following him from the camp and into the city.

She was beginning to know her way around the place, but appreciated the mage's gentle company and was planning on keeping him at her side as long as she could.

In this nightmare of a world, any good company was worth keeping.

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She made her way back to her quarters, where a warm bath filled with fragrant water had been drawn for her and servants had laid out a fancy dress on her bed, ready for her to don. Alyra stared at it coldly, grumbling as she viewed the glittering stones along the revealing neckline and obviously delicate, near see-through material, but she decided to try a different approach to the situation this time: instead of snapping and snarling about being forced to wear something she did not like, she would hide her emotions. She had the distinct impression that the sooner everyone here thought her subdued, the better it would be… after all, it was not in her nature to bow her head and obey. Even with her mother's life on the line, she knew she had to stay vigilant, ever searching for the opportunity that would allow her to get them out of this mess. If the king thought her broken, perhaps he would let his guard down… perhaps…

A servant came to help her bathe and she allowed the young woman to wash her hair with scented oils and work the tension from her shoulders, actually enjoying the gentleness with which she was treated. After she had bathed, the young servant dried her with a large towel and helped her put on the dress, which apparently required someone else to assist the wearer into it, being quite snug and impossible to pull on.

Alyra glanced at herself in the mirror as she got ready to leave: the half-elf looking back was unknown to her. She stood viciously tall and proud, her face a sharp mask of cold arrogance, her long dark hair falling over bared shoulders, still heavy from the water in which she'd bathed. The dress she wore revealed her back and plunged down low across her chest, showing off not only the light curve of her small breasts, but also the scars she bore. Its light, green color complimented her eyes and as she slipped into a pair delicate high heels, she found herself towering gracefully. She had panache.

A tiny smirk twitching at the corner of her mouth, Alyra stepped out of the room, where another servant bowed low, gesturing for her to follow him. She did not fail to notice the brief, aghast look of contemplation he sent her, before they set out through the corridors, her high-heeled shoes clicking aggressively on the hard stone floor. After a long day of screaming at soldiers to do as they were told, she had to admit that her confidence had soared and it showed in the predatory sway of her motions.

They walked through the palace, all the way to the higher floors, where they came out onto the roof gardens. For a moment, Alyra was at a loss for words when they emerged onto the rooftop: around her spread vines and bushes and flowers of every color imaginable, crawling and growing across the intricately worked paths that twisted off further than she could see… the sky was clear, the sun almost done vanishing over the horizon, with an unconceivable array of stars were beginning to appear one after the other in the moonless night. She gazed up and around herself, unable to hide her amazement as she moved slowly through the gorgeous surroundings… the flowers smelled like a hundred thousand different things and she could not even begin to name a fifth of the plants she saw, there were so many…

The servant leading her made a discreet noise and Alyra snapped back to reality, regaining her composure, although with a bit less arrogance.

They walked around a vine-covered wall and she immediately saw king Eredin, his back turned to them, standing near a large table set for two. He was gazing off into the distance, his hands behind his back and turned slowly as he heard them approach.

His eyes fell on her and it was with savage pleasure that Alyra glanced a most brief flash of astonishment in his gaze. Her appearance had taken him off guard.

She curtsied slightly, never bowing her head, allowing an arm to glide out most gracefully as the king watched her with an intense gaze.

"Green suits you." He said in that voice like claws on ice. Shivers slipped down her spine, just a few of them from the light compliment.

She did not answer, only smiled a smile that wanted itself to be both charming and polite as, beneath her composure, a mixture of feeling swept through her being. The king gestured her to a seat, which she took slowly, always staring at him carefully. He sat opposite of her and slowly poured them both a glass of deeply red wine, his gaze never leaving hers. She found she could not read what it meant.

They toasted wordlessly and drank the first swallow soundlessly. The silence between them was strange, neither heavy nor light… she chose not to break it. The memories of what had been to her and her mother were still too fresh in her mind for her to pretend they did not awaken bloody wounds within her soul.

Eredin contemplated her. It was a time before he spoke.

"I hear you've done quite well for yourself amidst the soldiers on your first day." He finally stated. "You've had no trouble securing your position and have already begun commanding with, it seems, natural talent."

She wasn't sure what to make of this. Was it a compliment? A reproach?

"You know better than anyone that I am made of stern stuff." She snapped back, harder than she'd intended, just as a servant came forth with golden platters laden with food. He placed them in from of them and she gazed down at the various things to eat, picking a few out almost gingerly, her stomach tied in knots. She was starved, but the king's presence was making her nervous and cutting her appetite.

He smirked. "Perhaps." His voice was like ice. "But you fell in place, like all the rest, when faced with the one thing that made you weak."

She did not answer, only gnawed angrily at a grilled vegetable of some sort. It was surely delicious, but there was fury in her heart and it made the food taste like ash. She washed it down with wine, generously, and noted that warmth was spreading through her being: she hadn't dined and was tiered, so the alcohol was hitting her hard.

'Good.' She thought miserably. 'Maybe it can get me through the night.'

She finished her crystal glass in a long swallow, barely tasting the flavorful, rich wine.

Eredin poured her a new glass without a word, a small smirk playing on his lips. She drank this one slower, watching him wearily.

"What do you have planned for me? What do you want me to do?" She finally asked, quite blunt. Alyra was sick of the games that were played in this world: she felt like a fool in some play, of which she did not know the script.

The king watched her, glacier eyes shining. "No more and no less than I have asked of you. I want you to mount your own squadron of fighters which will follow your style. I don't plan on interfering much, seeing as you are doing quite a good job at selecting those you deem fit, rejecting those you do not approve of. I want you to build a company that can attack with deadly precision, without the clang and clamor of outfitted warriors. That's why I have given you free reign over your choice of garment and those who join you, because I want you to build what I do not have: assassins akin to Witchers."

She frowned at him curiously. "Why the interest in Witchers?"

Her question hit a mark: she saw it at once it the way his eyes became veiled. But the king was quick in regaining his composure, his face quite expressionless.

"There once rode a Witcher with the Wild Hunt. He was known as Gwynbleidd, or the White Wolf." She could tell he was trying to hide the truth of the story from her. "He died in our service, without ever having the time to leave behind the intricate, useful knowledge of his teachings. Witchers are hard to come by and I suppose you are the next best thing. Your acquaintance with their techniques will aid the Hunt in growing in power."

She neither nodded nor shrugged, sipping at her wine cautiously. There was more to all this than met the eye and she had a fleeting feeling that it had something to do with whatever Gaunter O'Dimm was playing at. It felt as though there was a hidden, underlying connection that held everything together, even if she could not quite comprehend or see it… this Gwynbleidd had something to do with Ithilinne's prophecy and the Elder Blood, she was sure of it. This was the second time she heard of the witcher known as the White Wolf here, the first time being during her questioning by Caranthir. The name rang a very distant bell, but she could not quite place it… Alyra decided to shrug it off for the time being and turned her attention to the food before her, as she was slowly realizing just how hungry she was.

Eredin watched her carefully as she tried her best to ignore him, nibbling at a few dishes and washing everything down generously with wine. She knew where all this was headed and was in no hurry to get there… if she could be drunk upon arrival, it just might not be too hard to bear, too…

"Were it not for your prowess in combat, I daresay I'd have you spend more time in my company." The king said suddenly, softly. She felt goose bumps rise all across her body and supressed a shiver. "Green really does suit you… and you look quite lovely in a dress…"

Alyra glanced up at last, furious at the blush that was creeping up her cheeks. Eredin's white gaze was calm and collected, but it bore into her with an intensity like a blaze. She found herself swallowing slowly through a clenched throat, her hunger forgotten as her stomach tied itself in anticipating knots.

"Rise."

The order was curt, but his face was amused. He obviously enjoyed toying with her.

Alyra stood slowly, gracefully, supporting his gaze with all the dignity she could muster, trying hard not to think about the warmth that was slowly invading her belly, spreading through her body longingly. Her breath came out shaky, but she remained composed under that stare that was both fire-hot and glacier-cold.

"Turn. I want to see you." Again, the words were an order that could not be refused.

Alyra lowered her head ever so slightly and obliged, pivoting on her heel-clad foot with the same sort of elegance she used in combat, her eyes straying afar upon the distant lights of the city, trying to calm her mind, her raging heart…

When she turned back to Eredin, she saw him standing just inches away from her and it made her jump: he'd moved so quickly and quietly that she had not heard him at all and was now uncomfortably close to the king… but before she could step away, his hand rose and caught her behind the neck in a grasp that was both delicate and unyielding, forcing her to stay put.

There was mocking amusement in his eyes as he pulled her close, his other hand catching her in the small of her back to force her body to press against his.

"I daresay I remember you enjoying your last night with me…" He whispered softly, his face inches from hers.

Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, her mind was blank…

Before she could retort anything at all, he pulled her closer still and their lips met in a soft kiss. At first, she was stiff and unyielding, but the gentle flutter of his lips on hers unexpectedly found her returning the kiss, delicately at first and suddenly with more fire to it… her own hands rose to grasp his arms and he pressed her harder against him, where she could feel his erect manhood against her belly.

She kept all thoughts at bay from her mind. She knew that if she would start thinking, the chaos of it all would overwhelm her… Alyra knew she was going to have to do this, whether she liked it or not: she was his concubine, after all… as such, she would do her best to make this as endurable as possible for herself and she knew that the only way to do that was to not think about it…

The king's hands suddenly became harsher against her and his mouth more avid. Deft fingers slipped in the folds of her dress and he pulled hard on it, tearing it at the seams, sending the little jewels that adorned it scattering over the stone ground as they ripped free. She gasped and pulled back momentarily, looking down at the damage he had caused.

When she glanced at him, she found his gaze infinitely amused.

"I've had it made…" He said softly. "I can destroy it if I please." There was some amount of warning in those words… or was she imagining things?

With that said, his hands grasped the side of the dress more firmly and pulled hard, ripping it enough to expose her hip and free her legs. He grasped her around the waist as though she weighted nothing at all and swept the dishes from the table beside them off with his free arm, sending the platters clanging to the ground noisily. Eredin forced her to pivot and pulled her up on the table, moving the bottom of her dress aside and up her legs in order to be able to spread them in front of him. His hand trailed up her thighs teasingly and she bit her lip to hide a gasp, staring at him apprehensively as he looked back, amused.

His fingers found her cunt and slipped into her deftly, prodding shamelessly at the burning wetness there. This time she could not hold back a deep moan that escaped her lips as she grasped his shoulders firmly, bucking her hips wantonly to meet his hand. The king smirked, taking his time to play with her wet pussy, his thumb finding the electrifying nub of pleasure there and teasing it relentlessly. Alyra found herself wrapping her legs around him as she pulled back her head and gasped, afraid to make noise should someone hear them…

Her pleasure was mounting steadily as the king's expert hand played in just the right spots and she started panting and groaning as she approached her climax.

He stopped and pulled out his fingers so suddenly that she cried out despairingly, her gaze snapping back to him almost lustfully.

Eredin was smirking softly as his hand slowly caressed her clit, drawing a sharp gasp from her. "Beg for it."

"I…" Redness crept up to her face and Alyra averted her gaze, her body twisting to his touch and betraying her. "Please…"

"Please, what?"

"Please… please don't stop." She whispered. A grin crept up Eredin's handsome face, revealing pearl-white teeth and she could not bring herself to look him in the eyes.

His fingers slipped back into her burning cunt and she moaned loudly this time. Her pleasure grew fast and it seemed to take but a moment that she was right on the edge of release… this time he did not deprive her of it, pulling her hips close with one hand as the other one kept fingering her and she came with a long growl, weaving her hand into his hair as black as jet, her own head pulled back as wave upon wave of intense pleasure wracked her body. The sensation left her feeling weak and shaking in his grasp.

It seemed barely over, her mind a blank buzz, that she felt him moving against her and she glanced down to see him pull out his hard cock, bringing her hips closer to the edge of the table as to be better able to reach her. He pushed himself into her and there was no pain: she was wet and ready for him. Her body reacted and she wrapped her legs around him, meeting his rhythm without thinking, groaning and moaning softly as her pleasure grew yet again.

She was seated and he stood against her, one hand grasping her ass to guide her as he fucked her hard, the other one's fingers digging in painfully into her thigh as he held her in place… not that she was struggling to get away this time… even the pain of his harsh grip seemed distant to her as his pounding member filled her and brought her closer to the peak of her pleasure with every rough stroke…

He came with a hungry growl, pulling her close against him as he sheathed himself within her and spilled his seed. The warmth that seeped into her belly threw her over the edge and she came again, trembling as a powerful wave of pleasure washed over her, momentarily blurring her vision. She was breathing hard, shaking slightly as her heart pounded within her chest like an animal trying to break free.

The king released her slowly and pulled himself out of her, lacing up his pants with an amused look crossing his face as he stared at her. She was still trying hard not to think anything, not to attach too much importance to what had just happened… she needed this to gloss over her, to pass her without touching her… she was going to have to do this again, she knew… the thought was as terrifying as it was enjoyable… Alyra set her hands beside her thighs on the table and calmed her raging heart with slowed breathing, bowing her head and closing her eyes, as though the motion could make the world around her disappear. She wondered what he would want of her now…

"I'll let you find your way back to your quarters, I know you must rest to face your day tomorrow." Eredin said and she held back a sigh, glad to be rid of him. "I'll be calling on you soon enough, however."

The afterthought sent chills down her spine, but she nodded docilely. "Yes, my king."

And just like that, he was gone and she was once again trapped in a hurricane of emotions she did not want to have.

(0)

A bit short, I know. This is all I have time to write for now, I do hope you've enjoyed it.

Please review!


	17. Run to war

Lucy, now we walk the tight line of Stockholm syndrome.

Brownblondey, hey there! I really wish I could tell you that I'm working on Order and Chaos but truth is that the story took a turn I don't like as much as I wish I did and I'm focusing my energy on finishing this one before really thinking that to do with O & C. I came close to taking O & C down, but decided against it. Let me sort this out and we'll see after, alright?

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She was starting to know the vast keep fairly well and was, as such, able to find her quarters quickly enough. Once there, she stripped almost angrily from the torn dress, using its silken hem to wipe the cool flow of the king's seed that had seeped down her thighs like ice-melt. She threw the garment aside and clambered into her large bed, hiding beneath the soft sheets and heavy furs, burrowing like a frightened beast into the reassuring folds.

Sleep did not find her for the longest time as her mind ran wild and her heart hammered within her chest. Her thoughts were agitated and anxious and she found herself unwilling to face any of the emotions she had felt during the evening. Alyra was in conflict with herself, faced with two sides of the situation: she could either give into abandon and start enjoying what she did here, as well as take unabashed pleasure in Eredin's touch, or she could resent her imprisonment by refusing to see it for anything else than the sordid manipulation that it was. The former implied that she would at least appreciate the eternity she was set upon spending here, but it also meant she would have to deny what she really was and aspired to always be: an untamable force, owned and controlled by no one, free to make her own choices.

The latter meant she would be miserable and conflicted, but true to what she thought was right. Was there a middle path, something to stride between those two spheres of existence? She didn't think so…

She twisted and turned in her bed and finally fell into an agitated sleep in the very early hours of morning. Her dreams were full of whispers, of mirrors and promises she feared would be broken…

Alyra woke just before dawn, covered in sweat and agitated. She got dressed and sat on the edge of her bed, putting her face into her hands, sighing deeply. For a moment, she just focused on breathing slowly… she calmed her heart, calmed her mind… it took her a while, but she was finally able to turn inwards and regain some composure over her confusion. Her day was about to begin and it promised to be full of action: she knew she was going to be very busy and that seemed to help her chase her fears away. Doing as she had done for years now, the young half-elf decided to set aside the commotion within her being to focus on tasks ahead in the hopes that things would resolve themselves, in time…

There was a dry knock on her door and she nearly unseated herself from the violence of her jump.

"Come in." Her voice came out almost like a snarl, trying to hide how she'd been startled.

The wooden door creaked open and Nathiel peaked in, visibly anxious. Alyra sighed at the sight of him and tried to smile as warmly as the present circumstance allowed her.

"Hey Nathiel."

He smiled back, relieved. "I see you're ready to go!" His tone was happy. "Good! The soldiers will be ready for you and we have a big day ahead of us!"

His excitement was contagious and she found herself calming easily as they strode out of her room and through the manse with sure steps. He started briefing her on what was planned for the day.

"You have time with your squadron till about noon. Then, it's time for a quick bite to eat and we'll head to the stables to see if we can find you a mount that suits you. Afterwards, you'll be presented with a new squadron, which I suppose you'll subject to the same training as the others yesterday to determine who to root out, am I right?"

She nodded as they reached the horses all saddled for them outside and mounted up.

"Alright!" Nathiel glanced at her a bit wearily and she noticed this, but did not push him to talk. It took a moment of silent riding before he apparently worked up the courage to ask his question. "So… how was your night?"

Her face remained a mask, no emotion appearing on it. She fought the urge to clamp her jaw shut and grit her teeth, which instilled a moment of awkward silence between them. The air was full of nothing but the wind and the steady clomping of the horses' hooves on the stone ground… she knew he'd asked the question because he was worried about her, more than anything… but she still felt a flash of anger at him…

"It was… short." She finally answered softly.

He nodded, looking down. "Right… right, well… so…" Nathiel cleared his throat. "What have you planned for the soldiers today, then?"

She flashed him a smile that was earnest, she hoped.

"You'll see."

(0)

The war camp was stirring as the sun peaked over the horizon. They rode through it undisturbed, all the way to the outer ring that had been prepared for her and her tiny squadron… as she rode up, she was somewhat glad to see all seven of yesterday's soldiers were there, warming up apprehensively and none of them had apparently decided to desert during the night.

Alyra dismounted gracefully and approached her wary fighters, which ceased their exercises and saluted her stiffly, standing at attention.

"At ease." She told them gently, nodding as they relaxed. "How are you feeling today? Are your sore?"

They shuffled their feet a little, like children being scolded. One of the big, burly warriors glanced up at her and shrugged slightly.

"A bit, m'am."

His head was cleanly shaven and there was a square, obtuse look to his jaw that made him so akin to Letho that she felt a pang of pain hit her heart, finding it quite impossible to look at him too long. It felt like staring at the sun. He was obviously at least part human, and she'd noted that there were a fair amount of half-elves, humans and quadroons amidst the Aen Elle soldiers. She wondered if there were dryads as well, although she hadn't seen any. The Hunt raided far and wide, it seemed.

"Good." She stated, harsher than she'd intended. "It means you are working hard enough. Witcher training is brutal and more often than not, deadly. The kids subjected to it die from injuries, falls and from the mutations… but you are not children… and you will not be mutated." She began pacing in front of them. "The key idea to fighting like a Witcher starts with being able to use your body efficiently. It also means you must know how to evolve in your environment in a way that is both fluid and instinctive. You must move like water, be fast as lightning and devour your enemies with the hunger of fire… and still you must be as hard as stone…" She glanced at them. "You know how to fight, I won't teach you much new in that… you know where to strike and how to strike to kill… what you don't know is how to do it so fast that your enemy sees you as nothing more than a blur. You don't know how to be hurricanes. Yesterday, we started to train. We started to train so I could see who had the possibility to move like a Witcher and who didn't. Out of dozens of warriors, only you seven remain and by the end, that number may dwindle down to none." She saw them glance at one another almost threateningly, as though daring one another to leave like cowards. It was good: she wanted them to want to be there, with her. "Today we will be starting at the very bottom of the chain, where the children of Destiny and orphans bound by fate to become Witcher start: by running."

There was a flash of confusion amongst the warrior's faces and Alyra saw even Nathiel frown slightly, until his mind whirred into action and he perhaps recalled some tome or text he'd read about the training of the Schools, which allowed him to understand her words.

"Each of the Witcher Schools of my world has something they call the Trail. Or the Track. I've heard it be called the Neck-breaker and the Killer too." This got every soldier's full attention. "It is a path through the wilderness that the children must learn to navigate at running speed until the day they can dash through it blindfolded, trusting nothing but their instincts." She removed her chainmail shirt, quiver and bow and set them aside, wanting to be as light as possible for what she was about to do. The soldiers wore nothing but leather pants and linen shirts, having learned from their previous day. "We have no such Trail, but we have something better: a whole city, filled with obstacles of any kind imaginable… a city that is awakening and that will be full of people that are nothing more than obstacles as well."

She cracked her knuckles and saw the soldiers tensing visibly, some of them already having a good idea where she was going with all this.

"You have until noon to catch me. If one of you does, he'll have earned himself a day off, which he can chose to take whenever he pleases." She smirked. "Go."

Alyra pivoted on a single foot and dashed out of the ring, clearing the small stone fence around it with a light leap that didn't slow her in the slightest.

She was amused to hear that the first soldier to move behind her, quicker than his bulk let on, was the one that reminded her so much of Letho.

(0)

It felt good to run. She'd decided on this exercise after realizing that nothing would do her as much good as a long, exhausting session that made her muscles burn and her lungs fill with fire. Flames were the best for erasing doubt and agony.

Also, she felt savage pleasure at dashing through the camp, seven slightly panicked fighters running behind her as she leapt and twirled through any path she chose to take. Other Aen Elle seemed scandalized by her affront and it just made her feel all the better.

Alyra dove into one of the tents erected on the battle ground, slipping around a half-naked soldier that was getting up to take a piss and vaulting between two bunk beds. The first of her fighters behind her rammed like a wall of bricks into that said soldier, awakening the others and starting a long tirade of shouting and swearing. The six other somehow managed to stumble through the tent after her and she didn't have to look back to know that all seven were still on her trail. She burst from the tent and slid beneath a horse, which kicked and reared, startled, causing a small panic that blocked her pursuer's paths momentarily.

They dashed around the screaming horse, blind to the trail of agitation they were leaving in their wake, hell-bent on catching their lieutenant, their brows furrowed in concentration as they panted from the effort.

Alyra had barely broken a sweat, her breath deep and even as she clambered up a drain to led to the top of a stone stable. She glanced down at the seven, which had reached the bottom of the building by the time she was on the roof.

"Breathe deep and even. Control your body and your heart." She advised, smirking slightly. They began climbing, some on the drain, and others by the jagged stones of the building's surface. "Your body needs more energy if you do not move it fluidly. You're wasting breath by not using your motions and stopping instead of flowing."

With that, she slipped back and ran across the roof. Reaching its other end, she slowed slightly and leapt off, at which point the first of the seven fighters had managed to get to the top of the building. It was two stories high, but as she sailed through the air, time seemed to slow to a crawl and her instincts took over, her body folding into a curl. She hit the ground with her feet but moved forward, rolling over her shoulders and didn't even slow down, moving with the motion to get back up and keep running as though she hadn't just leapt an impossible distance.

But she stopped herself nonetheless and looked back. If she didn't advise them, how would they learn?

The seven stood atop the building, gaping at her a little. Alyra chuckled.

"Jump from there wrong and you'll break both legs. But that distance isn't deadly; far from it. Hit the ground on the balls of your feet, bend your knees and roll. Protect your head, get up and keep moving."

She saw one of the smaller fighters nod seriously, before taking a deep breath and leaping off.

He landed a bit crookedly and rolled hard, hitting the ground with a groan, but she saw him getting back up nonetheless as another fighter followed his example, landing with a bit more grace.

Alyra turned and ran off, knowing the others would either follow or… give up. The point of this exercise was that as well: root out who was ready to follow her into the impossible from who wasn't.

They reached the city, where Aen Elle had stirred from their homes and filled the streets. She smirked wider still, knowing she was about to enjoy herself… now came the time to practice moving with the fluidity of a swimmer breaking through waves.

She dodged around the first group of startled elves with grace and swung around the next just as delicately. Behind her erupted swears and screams as one of the soldiers collided with the ground and sent elves scattering. She had to hold back a laugh: it felt fantastic to introduce a bit of chaos into the lives of these haughty, cold beings. Alyra leaped through a cart loaded with colorful fruits without disturbing so much as leaf, dodging around the cart's outraged owner and climbing the stairs beside two at a time. She slipped into an alley and was almost at its other end when she heard grunts behind her that confirmed she still had a tail.

The alley led her into an occupied square, which she navigated by twisting and twirling like a serpent through the crowd, her wake filled with angry shouts as the soldiers blundered after her. She knew their discouragement had to be rising, so she slowed and turned slightly, raising her voice to be heard over the crowd.

"Pivot on a single foot, like I showed you in combat yesterday! Your bodies are not those of blundering, rampaging fiends! Your mind is blocking you because you've been taught all your lives to move in the jerking motions of puppets!" She howled, leaping up a small stone wall and running backwards without tripping over her feet. "Free your mind! Free your body! AND MOVE!"

They had reached the stone wall and started at her in unmistakable awe as she back flipped off the partition, landed on a single foot, pivoted with a wink and vanished anew into the dense crowd without disturbing anyone.

(0)

This went on for the rest of the morning. For a short while she actually managed to lose her avid pursuers, but one of the smaller fighters, his brow furrowed in concentration, had been sharp enough to spot her as she idled behind a stone chimney, up on a roof, and the chase began anew. She noted that, so far, he seemed most at ease: he had learned quickly to control his breathing and was the one that was least blundering about, actually being able to flow with his motions better than his brothers. The big one that looked like Letho was red and soaked in sweat, breathing like an angered bull, but was still getting a better hang at this than one of the tall, lanky fighters, which seemed over-encumbered with his long limbs, never quite sure where to place his feet. The other four were dealing acceptably with the situation, neither good nor horribly bad at what they were doing. She saw this as a good sign and knew that the next step in rooting out the useless ones would be in how long they could take this sort of training and how fast they could get better at it.

The returned to the camp at a slight trot and she took care to pick an easier route that sloped downward and didn't run through a big crowd. The war camp watched them all pass with mixed looks of disdain, curiosity and annoyance; Alyra resisted the urge to gesture at them rudely.

Nathiel was waiting at her there, trying to hide his apprehension. She winked at him as she passed him and he smiled back gently, standing aside as she took a moment to stretch along her squadron and instruct them to rest and return in the evening to continue training with the new squadron she would be receiving. Then, she joined the waiting mage.

"I brought you some clothes if you'd like to change. They're in the tent, with a meal… we have a few moments still before we have to leave: they are expecting us just a little after noon at the royal stables."

She nodded and entered the nearby tent he'd gestured to. Nathiel waited back, giving her time to strip from her sweat-soaked leathers and don the light linen shirt and pants he'd brought for her. She strapped her sword-belt around her hips nonetheless, feeling better and safer with the reassuring weight of her swords at her sides. Her bow and quiver she left with her clothes, knowing she'd probably only be encumbered by them.

The mage entered the tent to find her ravenously eating bites from the dishes set out on a small table, taking large portions of something that looked like roast duck, enjoying the presence of protein, for once… the elves were not keen on meat, after all…

He joined her in silence and when she had eaten her fill, they set out.

As they trotted through the camp, she noted they were not headed towards the city, but outward into the hills that surrounded the area, where she had never been before. Alyra enjoyed the warm sun over her face for a moment before turning her gaze to Nathiel.

"How do the seasons in this world work, again? Are they like from where we are, or different? I can't recall ever reading anything about that…"

Nathiel shrugged lightly. "A year here is the same length as where we're from, although the elves use their own calendar to divide the seasons."

"And what date are we exactly?"

"In the elven calendar, or ours?"

"Ours."

Nathiel looked up at the bright blue sky, pondering this momentarily.

"Well, you've arrived here at the beginning of July and have been with us for a little over two weeks, so we're mid-July now." He glanced at her. "Why do you ask?"

Alyra shrugged. "Just curious."

Nathiel took her answer as it was and they kept riding, but truth was that she'd been wondering just how long it had been since she'd last heard from Letho… he'd contacted her sometime at the start of May; she remembered because the winter had been long and she'd spent it up north. When his letter reached her, she was enjoying the first warm day in a while, basking under the sun. Several months had now passed and she found herself worrying that the mission he'd told her he'd be undertaking had ended badly for him… if that was the case, her mother's first hope was gone…

Her heart filled with hollow agony and she pushed all those thoughts right out of her mind, focusing on the road as they trotted up a hill and descended into a small valley below, where a great stone stable had been erected. The surrounding pastures were immense and full of jet-black horses that whinnied and cried out at their approach.

They were greeted by a handsome Aen Elle male, who introduced himself as the owner of the premises. Nathiel nodded at him and gestured for him to start his tour. The looks he sent at Alyra were curious almost to the point of disapproval, but she ignored him spectacularly and followed him, listening half-heartedly as he rambled on about the details of his stock, praising his own prowess at being able to produce jet-black animals that were hearty, enduring and ferocious. They passed a few pastures, where the dark mares and geldings watched them walk by with calm eyes.

They made their way into the large stable, where young stable hands scurried out of their way like mice, their gazes low and obedient. Alyra felt sadness at the sight of them.

A few of the spacious stalls contained horses, which whinnied shrilly and stomped their hooves at their passage and the elf explained that these were the breeding stallions and were kept here due to their ferocious temperament, being allowed outside only one at a time as to not fight amongst themselves.

As they passed one of the stalls, she heard a low, angry snort come from within and, as she turned her head to see what sort of animal had made such a furious sound, the horse within kicked with all its strength against the door, causing a sound like the clap of thunder as the door shook dangerously on its hinges. Nathiel leapt away, startled, crying out a few choice swears and she noted that the door was barricaded by a thick padlock. She hadn't moved an inch, her gaze crossing that of the creature within.

"That one's scheduled to be put down, just as soon as we can figure out a way to get him out of the box without him ripping off our heads." The elven owner said, his lip curling in obvious anger as the beast glared at him with reddish eyes, snorting lowly. "Far too much spite and fire in him… no one's been able to actually ride him and I firmly believe he's utterly useless. Now, if you'll follow me, I hand-picked a few geldings and mares for you to try, seeing as I wasn't sure what sort of horse you'd prefer."

He gestured for them to follow and they did, Alyra's eyes leaving the stallion's after a moment of silent staring.

They had walked a few more paces when a renewed blow sounded behind them as the angry stallion kicked at the door with all its might, howling. They ignored it, but Nathiel looked back worriedly as they neared the door leading back outside.

There was a third howl from the raging beast and a third, powerful blow at the trembling door… and the twisting protest of metal as the door tore right off its hinges and went flying into the opposite wall.

The horse wasted no time, leaping out of the box, its hooves skittering on the stone ground as it snorted ruefully, aiming a new kick at one of the stable hands that had tried to come near to seize it… the young boy ducked out of the way at the last moment, narrowly avoiding having his skull cracked open as the beast reared, hooves flying and leapt forward, breaking into a full gallop right at Alyra, Nathiel and the elf.

The mage and elf threw themselves aside into open stalls to avoid the stampeding stallion, but Alyra just stood her ground and stared at the rushing mass of black fury that was aiming right at her… her toes seemed to grasp the ground, her knees bended ever so slightly and her muscles tensed as she furrowed her brow and apprehensively prepared her entire being, focusing. Time seemed to slow to a crawl and she knew that she had but once chance to do this right, because if she miscalculated a single move, or the horse managed to outwit her, she was as good as dead.

Suddenly, the beast was upon her, red eyes wide and glaring, mouth pulled back from its teeth as it tried to snap at her like some common wolf… she'd expected it to do so and pushed herself off with one foot at the last possible moment, spinning aside and out of its way, finding herself beside the horse instead of in front of it. Her hand flew out almost instinctively and grasped a handful of the jet-black mane as she bent her knees and propelled herself up on the horse with every inch of strength she had. It was a tall beast, probably close to sixteen hands, and it was only thanks to sheer luck that she managed to properly use its own momentum to heave herself onto its back, squeezing the burning flanks with her legs and weaving her hands into the silky hairs.

The horse burst out through the door like a bullet, barely managing to squeeze out and she earned herself a painful blow to the knee from a sudden contact with the doorframe. Alyra hissed in pain, tears filling her eyes… but she had no time to think about it, because the animal finally realized he hadn't run her down and she was sitting on him…

He bucked and howled, the screaming ringing through the still air and earning a chorus of answers from the other horses as they grew agitated by the stallion's behavior. It kicked and reared, twisting that great head of his to try and reach her, but she gritted her teeth and held on as best she could.

It became apparent that he would not, however, tire before she did, so Alyra decided to put an end to this.

She shook one of her hands out of the jet mane and folded her fingers into Axii as fast as she could, projecting calm and cooperation into the magic. The split second it took for her to cast the sign was almost enough for the beast to be rid of her, but then the magic hit it and it stopped fighting at once, panting hard, its great head bowed as sweat began glistening on its sleek flanks.

Alyra relaxed slightly and ran gentle hands over the creature's thick neck. She did not project obedience into the magic that accompanied Axii: she did not want an obedient slave of a mount… instead, she projected comprehension, a feeling of unity between them, a sensation of partnership… the beast stood a bit straighter, almost as though its lungs were filling with pride and not with air. It stomped a hoof but stayed immobile, keenly listening to what her hands dictated through Axii…

Nathiel and the elf burst through the door near them, breathing hard, eyes wide and panicked… they saw the pair and Alyra glanced at them at the same time as the horse did, both their gazes alight with a flame they seemed to share.

"I'll take this one, if you don't mind." She addressed the elf, who was utterly speechless. "His name is Segomo."

(0)

Segomo was outfitted with a brand-new saddle and prepared for her to take away at once. Alyra noted the general panic that seemed to have followed this morning's adventure as the stable hands rushed left, right and center, clearly still nervous and jumpy around the horse that had for so long plagued their nightmares. It did not move an inch as it was tended, as though it been rooted into place. It was shod with iron while Alyra quietly explained to Nathiel just how Axii worked, suggesting they let the elven owner think she had tamed the beast through sheer will, which seemed to amuse the mage greatly. They left the premises shortly after with her riding Segomo as though they'd been trained together, leaving under the awed stares of the stable workers.

The story of how she'd mounted and tamed the famed wild horse somehow managed to find its way to the war camp before they did and new whispers and stares greeted the young half-elf as she made her way to her designated training spot, where a fresh squadron had been brought to join her seven fighters…

Her six fighters… with a pang of sorrow she noted that one of the lankier warriors had left and those that had remained gave her a sort of half-shrug before saluting her with utmost respect.

This time, no one from the squadron challenged her or her methods. Everyone did as she ordered without peeping a sound and she felt somewhat warmed by the fact that the six that remained with her seemed to be participating with unabated pride, as though it was the greatest honor to have spent more time with her.

These feeling were making it extremely hard to regret being here and feeling like the prisoner she was.

Alyra pushed those thoughts out of her mind and let herself be lulled by the pleasant burn of a good training session.

(0)

Sorry for the delay. School has started and I have to work a lot too, so it's hard to find the time and energy to write. I want to do this story justice and bring it all the way to the end, so your reviews help keep me going!

Please let me know what you think of it!


	18. All these pieces

Kateskates, glad to see you still reading! Writing is a nice way for me to relax, but I also love gaming and have to find a balance between the two.

MaggYme, the perfect horse for her, I think.

Lucy, thank you so much!

Fizzbuzzler, thank you for your review! I agree that there isn't much fanfiction for the Witcher world, which is very sad and I'm really glad you enjoy it. I did not expect it to be anywhere near as popular as it is and I'm very happy for it! There are indeed very few original characters here, mainly because the story revolves around the Wild Hunt more than anything and I didn't want Alyra to be some common Mary Sue who has ties with Geralt… it felt too unrealistic. But there will be a sequel and there will be more main characters there, I promise. The end of this one might see quite a few as well, but I'll say no more about that!

Alice Ladeux, glad I managed to pull you in, then! Hope you enjoy yourself for the chapters to come!

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It took a week for her armor to be forged. When the smith and leatherworker had her brought to the shop they shared, she could read the pride mixed with anxiousness that seeped from them as they stumbled over themselves to show her what they had worked so hard on…

It was perfect. It was jet-black, of course, but when she put in on it was so light and fit so well it felt like wearing a second skin. The joints were so mobile it took her a lengthy inspection to make sure they weren't compromised and she found that the clasps that secured it at various, strategic places were placed just right, easy to undo so she could change out of it on her own. The leather was intricately worked to be reminiscent of the bones of a skeleton and she found herself thinking back on the armors Eredin and his general had worn the first time she'd seen them, in the tower of southern Velen… the memory twisted at her gut a bit and even though she had expected the skeletal theme to be worked into her armor somewhat, it did not make it easier to bear. It made her inclusion in the Wild Hunt all that more real…

However, the black leather had not just been aesthetically worked: running her nails over it she saw just how hard it was, even if it was mobile. It would offer greater protection than she could have dreamed of. There was jet-black chainmail covering her back, torso, stomach, flanks and thighs, as well as her forearms and the front part of her boots. The metal had been embedded into the leather and had a very slight glint to it, but it had been made mostly mat as to not reflect the light and give away her position… Alyra did not know how the smith had thought of such a thing, but she was impressed by it. Her gloves were of a thinner material that allowed her to feel through her fingers a bit, but metal had been sown into the knuckles as to protect her hands during combat. They'd made her a mask of a tightly woven sort material that she'd never seen before: it was light but solid and when she put it on, it hugged her face but allowed her to breathe as though she did not have it on.

Of course, it had been sown with a sort of spectral grin of coal-black that was probably meant to terrify her enemies. She did not know if she liked or hated that idea.

One of her boots had a little more space on the side with an inner strap that would allow it to hold a knife. When Thonir, the leatherworker, saw that she'd noticed it, he grinned genially at her and seemed most excited.

"You didn't ask for that, but I thought to add it myself!" He beamed. "I heard how your last resort against the king in your world had been the knife in your boot and thought you'd like to have a spot for one!" She glanced at him, slightly astonished that he'd heard details about the fight in Velen and he mistook her shock for displeasure. "You… you don't like it?"

Alyra held back laughter at his sudden distress, knowing it wasn't proper to burst out laughing at this moment. She smiled softly and shook her head gently.

"Of course I do!" Both elves seemed greatly reassured. "It's all I asked for and a thousand times more. Master Thonir, Master Rivorn… you've truly outdone yourselves! You have my thanks."

They burst out into a mixed spatter of graciousness and polite responses that she didn't understand because they spoke too fast and at the same time. So Alyra just smiled and bowed her head and listened to them until Nathiel thankfully decided to usher her out, saying they had a busy day ahead of themselves.

That night, after another long evening training a new squadron and watching it dwindle down as fighters took their leave, Alyra sat on her bed and gazed at the new armor, which she'd laid out on the nearby dresser. It had caused a stir when she'd returned to her soldiers: she knew it gave her even more panache and somehow made her seem more… sombre…

Wearing it… simply having accepted it… she felt as though she was digging her own grave with a broken spade, one useless blow at a time. She'd felt the same way after claiming Segomo… the horse made her inevitable stay here seem even more… real.

Like she was slowly stripping away who and what she was, to wear the skin of someone else, someone who rode with the Hunt and trained their soldiers and wore their armor… and enjoyed it all…

She did not find sleep easily that night, but was glad of one thing: she hadn't seen the king in a week, as he was quite busy, and Alyra knew she had more than enough confusion to deal with without having to endure what he brought to the table. She had no idea when he'd call on her again, but was in no rush for that to happen… the last night they'd shared…

The memory brought shivers of more than fear to her skin and did nothing to help her sleep.

The following week was just as hard as the one before as she plowed through squadron after squadron, her trainings ever more intricate and unforgiving, until, at long last, she'd gone through the entire reserve army. Haw many soldiers had she seen? Fifteen hundred? More?

She'd been told that the ones presented to her were the youngest recruits, unspecialized of yet. She got no one from the cavalry, archers or main force because they had been trained for too long to be where they were: it would be useless work to undo what they'd learnt. So Alyra got her pick of the lot and ended up with some eighty soldiers by the end of the second week, knowing full well that she'd probably have less than half of that by the time she was done with them.

Of her original seven, only three remained. One of them was the giant warrior that looked like Letho… his name was Edrick and he was a half-elf from a world that wasn`t hers or this one, which she'd learned after the first week, on a night she'd stayed behind at the camp to drink with her recruits. They seemed uneasy around her at first, but after a few pints of golden beer, they spoke with her like with an old friend. They'd talked well into the night, and she remembered little of the words exchanged, but much about how it had felt to be there with them, under those alien stars…

It had felt… nice…

And when she'd gone to sleep that night, that nice feeling had settled right down next to one of guilt, which was ever growing in her chest.

She let her new recruits know they could rest and, if they so wished, could join her on the morrow for a day of horseback riding and training. She left to sleep in her quarters in the king's palace, unable to shake the feeling that leaving the camp behind created a rift between her and those she trained.

The following morning brought its lot of bad news as she rose from her bed, got dressed and crossed paths with a messenger on her way out. He informed her that the king was expecting her in his chambers at sundown and by the agitated way he acted, she guessed it meant the ruler was in a foul mood.

She acknowledged this and rose out of the manse on Segomo, headed for the war camp with a ball of lead sitting in her stomach. She tried to disperse it as it she reached her little portion of the camp, trying to focus instead on the day of riding she'd planned for herself and those of her squadron who wished to join… Alyra reached the barracks that had been raised for her trainees and was absolutely astonished to find that literally all of them were there, awake, clothed and ready to ride with her. Those who had horses had saddled them and waited by their beasts, expectant, but very few had mounts to call their own.

It took over an hour to organise a horse for everyone else, as she sent a few messengers running left and right to collect spare beasts.

Eighty riders… she was at a loss for words, having expected perhaps one or two to join her and not having planned anything in particular for this day off. So she decided to improvise.

The rest of the day consisted in races and drills, in practices of agility where she impressed everyone yet again by being able to mount up on her horse as it galloped past her… after the demonstration, the soldiers tried their hands at the manoeuvre, a few of them managing to clamber up on their speeding beasts. It was an altogether enjoyable day, filled with a cheeriness and playfulness she had not experienced since she'd gotten there. Edrick outshone everyone by his startling grace as he managed to slip to and from his galloping mount without so much as a wasted breath.

But she could not shake the knowledge that the king awaited her when she was done…

The day ended far faster than she would have liked it to. She left her soldiers behind and rode to the king's manse as though in a dream…

Alyra left Segomo in the stables to be tended and went to her own quarters to wash the sweat and dust from her skin, soaking in a warm bath as she held back the tidal wave of thoughts that was trying to push into her mind… she knew and did not know what was awaiting her, simultaneously…. Was there any use in worrying? Probably not…

The king had not laid out any specific clothes for her to wear, so she settled for a simple cotton shirt and linen pants, suspecting she wouldn't be keeping them on for long, anyways…

The walk up to the king's quarters felt like a million league march.

When she knocked at his door, he opened it suddenly and the look on his face sent a shock of anticipation through her being: she could tell that he was still in an unbearable mood. She slipped into the room without a word and without a glance at him, wondering what she was in for… Eredin had only ever been gentle with her so far… she did not know what to expect of him when he was angered. Would he be like Imlerith? Or worse… like Caranthir?

She shivered involuntarily, heading past him to the far wall, where a carafe of wine lay in wait on a table. She was downing her second glass in long, hungry gulps when he reached her, grabbing her by the upper arm harder than he ever had.

Alyra's green eyes met his glacier ones with an intonation of challenge, hiding her fear well enough.

There was a heavy moment of silence between them.

"Kneel." Eredin ordered, his voice like ice.

Knowing better, the young woman sank to her knees slowly, her gaze leaving his at the last possible second. From then on, it wasn't hard to guess he wanted, as his unyielding fingers locked in her mane of hair and her own hands rose to undo his breaches and pull out his hardening member. She took him in her mouth without thought, her tongue slipping over the length of him as he pushed and pulled her head along with the motion of his hips. His fingers were harsh and painful and he fucked her mouth with hungry groans…

Alyra thought he was about to reach the peak of his pleasure, when Eredin suddenly tugged her by the hair, pulling her mouth from his cock, and grabbed her to pull her up. She stupidly expected him to kiss her, but instead he slammed her against the table behind her, sitting her up on it, pulling off her linen pants with a motion harsh enough to rip them and spread her legs with a single move. He grabbed her by the hips and brought her close, thrusting into her just as angrily as she cried out, half in pain and half in pleasure, not prepared for the sudden intrusion. Their eyes met in a storm of mutual fury and she bared her teeth at him without realising what she was doing, earning herself a harsh pull to her hair, as the king thrust into her with unbeknown intensity. Their pleasure grew in growls with her pain and as he came into her with a spiteful snarl, she sighed as a wave of overwhelming pleasure washed over her, erasing her thoughts for a moment.

Release did not last long, as Eredin pushed her away coldly and began lacing up his breeches. She was panting softly, an ache settling between her legs as the wine she'd downed so rapidly began running through her veins, liquid warmth. Alyra stared at the king with an unblinking gaze, slowly picking up her torn pants and putting them on.

He turned to look at her and the cold, unabated fury that twisted in his glacier eyes momentarily made her forget to breathe. The young woman took a step back, suddenly frightened.

"Get out." His voice was harsh and unyielding, cold as ice. It speared through her and she clenched her jaws tightly shut, lowering her gaze and left the room without a single word.

As she shut the door behind her and nearly fled to her room, Alyra felt curiosity replace her fear: just what was the king so damned angry about?

She vowed to find out.

(0)

That night she left the manse and rode out on Segomo all the way back to her soldier's barracks in the war camp, having donned her armor. She had no desire whatsoever to remain under the same roof as a raging Eredin and, seeing as he hadn't specifically ordered her to stay there, she thought it wiser to remain as far as away from him as she could get.

She unsaddled Seg and let him roam around the barracks silently, ripping up chunks of grass here and there while she sat down with her back propped against the stone wall, glancing up at the grinning moon. The night was silent around her and the glitter of the many stars helped calm her as she processed the unease that her brief time with the king had caused her.

It took some time, but she finally managed to fall into an agitated sleep.

She dreamt for the first time in a while.

 _A city of broken stone. It is elven._

 _A square with an empty fountain and… and two men._

 _One with his hair as white as snow and his eyes like those of a cat…_

 _The other…_

 _The other…_

 _Letho!_

 _She wants to scream, but cannot make a sound. A hundred things that she wants to scream at him!_

My mother! Help me! I miss you! My mother needs you! I'm being hurt, please… help me! Don't let them hurt me! Help me! Help my mother! Please! Please…

 _But she makes not a motion, not a sound._

 _The two witcher talk… talk… it looks like they will draw their swords…_

 _Or perhaps not…_

 _The white one… will he hurt Leth-_

Segomo's loud snort brought her sharply back to reality and Alyra woke with a start, astonished to feel heavy tears running down her face. The sky was becoming lighter over the horizon and she sat there for a long moment, unable to process her dream as an intricate piece of information seemed to want to force itself into her mind… it was as though she was building a puzzle and finally had one of the missing pieces, but wasn't just quite sure where it was supposed to go…

Segomo nudged her gently and she patted him absently, her mind both void and buzzing with thoughts…

And then it clicked into place, so loudly she thought it would wake the entire camp.

The white-haired Witcher.

The White Wolf.

Gwynbleidd.

She'd heard of him, of course she had! She'd even seen him once, a few years back in some tavern by the road. She'd heard rumors about him involvement in the coup on Thanedd and something… something to do with the Nilfgardian emperor's daughter…

And if her dream was to be believed, she'd just seen him confronting Letho, although she had no idea why the conflict had started or how it had ended… on that front, she could only hope and pray that her witcher friend was unharmed…

She remembered that Gwynbleidd was of the school of the Wolf, just as Lambert was… they'd talked about him once… about how he had a knack for finding trouble, even with…

Even with the Wild Hunt…

Shock made it hard to breathe. There was still much she did not understand, but suddenly there seemed to be some sort of path, or pattern, emerging from the darkness…

The White Wolf… Caranthir questioning her about him, about if she knew where he was… Nathiel telling her how Gwynbleidd had ridden with the Hunt, but had died in their service… Gaunter, hinting at some strange events to come, which she would help unfold… the Elder Blood, line of Lara Dorren that had snaked through history all the way to… to the Emhyr Var Emreis' daughter… who'd had involvement with Gwynbleidd…

And she was ready to bet anything that the king's fury had something to do with that specific Witcher.

The camp woke around her slowly and the young woman rose to her feet, feeling as though she was a million leagues away. Vertigo hit her hard and she had to hold on to Segomo's mane as she seemed to teeter on the edge of something immense, like a maw yawning open at her feet, too deep to see where it ended…

As her own soldiers emerged from the barracks, she struggled to regain her composure and immediately started to put them through drills, focusing on that and that alone. Whatever it was that she had just realised, she was still missing a lot of information and would need to… would need to ask, to seek…

At that moment, Nathiel rode into camp and she got an idea.

(0)

"Where were you these last few days?" She asked with forced concern, her mind working overtime as she tried to figure out a way to get the mage to talk. He'd waited on the sidelines while she drilled her fighters and she'd broken away from them as soon as she could to talk with him.

He glanced sideways, evasive. "Had to run some… errands… with Imlerith."

"And Eredin?" She tried to sound nonchalant, but knew that her curiosity was peeking through her tone.

Nathiel shrugged. "Yes." His answer was curt and she knew at once that she would get no more from him until he felt more at ease. She clapped him on the back and smiled softly.

"I just wanted to know if you got a… a chance to go back to our world. I was actually hoping to as you for a favor." He seemed alarmed at this, but she pushed on. "Training these soldiers is only part of the job, you know. If they're going to be able to fight like Witchers, like true Witchers, they need to… well, to learn about the things that Witchers fight against, you know?"

Alyra let comprehension dawn on the mage slowly, wanting him to understand that her request had nothing to do with betraying the Hunt, which she was now surer than ever that he would never, ever do. Nathiel was too much a coward to even consider doing something that might get them out of there.

He nodded and she continued.

"Eredin's in a foul mood and I want to stay clear of him for the time being. I was hoping you could run it by him that it would be a good idea to bring back tomes from the Witcher schools to help me develop techniques with the soldiers… Hell," She had a sudden, wild idea. "If he wants to ferry dangerous beasts from our world as well, it might make for some nice sport, don't you think? He could host a tournament of some sort for the fighters to show off their skill!"

Nathiel looked at her lengthily and for a moment she was sure he'd refuse her, thinking it was a terrible idea… then she had no idea how she would manage to find a way to her world to her hands on books that might help her figure out what was going on.

The place that probably contained the most knowledge on the White Wolf and his Elder blood protégée was probably Kaer Morhen, but she knew the School of the Wolf to still be inhabited and did not want to risk bringing the Hunt down on the heads of her friends. The School of the Manticore and of the Griffin were both probably empty, seeing as she was pretty sure all their remaining Witcher were long since dead. If asked, she would direct the Hunt there…

She let the mage think on this for a moment and, finally, he nodded.

"You want to go there yourself?" He asked almost suspiciously.

She shrugged, trying her hardest to seem unconcerned. "Not necessarily." She knew that it was critical he think that she had no hidden motives. "That's why I'm asking you: I know you'll probably be able to find what I need… you've got a good head on your shoulders, unlike some of the brutes here." She smiled softly. "But if the king has no objections to sending me along with you, I'd be glad to come. I'l know exactly what I need when I'll see it there."

Nathiel nodded sagely, convinced. She held back a sigh of relief.

"I'll run it past him as soon as he's calmer! I have to attend him with Imlerith to discuss what we've tried to find… I mean…" He stopped, embarrassed that he had almost said too much. She pretended not to have noticed as he cleared his throat. "In the meantime, you could see Ge'els… he has quite the library and just might have some books that would interest you!"

"Can you ask him if he'd mind me having a look at his collection?"

Nathiel smiled genuinely, barely hiding his relief at not having to betray the Hunt in any matter, while Alyra's mind ran at a thousand thoughts per second, still fighting to piece everything together.

The Hunt was after the Elder blood… but why? And how did the White Wold tie into this?

(0)

Review, my friends!


	19. Of books

NOTE: So sorry for the long wait, I'm absolutely swamped with work and school!

Kateskates, incoming scream!

Fizzbuzzler, it was indeed and it was also an opportunity for those who consult the timeline to know exactly where we are, because now I have a much better idea of what's going to happen. As for who lives and dies, you'll see!

Starrat, and I, for your next review! Welcome to the story!

Mereryd, thank you! Welcome to the story!

Lucy, I was glad to give her something nice to have! That, and Segomo.

Silkywolfess, I'm glad you like the story and the OC and I'm glad she stands out from the rest! I'm doing my best to make her unique and interesting, with depth.

(0)

Nathiel was quick to please when he thought himself working for something that wasn't betraying the Wild Hunt. By the end of the week, he'd consulted the king about Alyra's idea to scout Witcher schools for knowledge and he'd arranged a meeting for her with Ge'els to give her a chance to consult his library. The king told the mage he wanted a few days to deliberate on the idea of Alyra going back to her world, so she had nothing else to look forward to other than the possibility of delving into Ge'els' personal collection of knowledge.

Back in her world, she had not been much of a reader. Books generally bored her, but she was able to value the information many of them might contain. Her mother had taught her her letters at a young age and she was a fast reader, but Alyra was more often one to act, not one to think. However, after starting to train as a Witcher with Letho and Lambert, she'd sought out the old schools during the periods of time when her teachers were away, walking the Path. She'd tracked down the school of the Griffin, where the ruined library still had quite a few potable tomes on fighting techniques and all manner of beasts. She'd spent a winter holed up in the crumbling keep, devouring book upon book to learn how to fight each and every monster and practicing the motions shown on the crumbling pages. She'd taken note of a few potions and bomb concoctions as well.

The most disturbing thing she'd found in the place was an ancient tome, half erased by time, which depicted and explained the brews and process of the Trial of Grasses. With it, she'd found the journal of a mage who had lived at the school of the Griffin and who had performed the Trail on young Witchers for many years. His details were sometimes vague, sometimes troubling, but the simple fact that four boys out of five died during the ordeal was more than enough to make her put it down. Alyra knew all too well that if she should ever find something of the sort again, she would do well to destroy it, lest she have Eredin pushing to mutate her whole squadron. Or worse… raid a hundred worlds in search of expendable boys to turn into weapons of war…

The thought chilled her and took root in the back of her mind as she rode through the city on Segomo, headed to Ge'els' manse. Again, she found herself wondering why Eredin was after the Elder Blood and what the White Wolf had to do with it… she'd once or twice heard Lambert speaking of his Witcher friend, but had failed to catch his name…

Ge'els was awaiting her personally on the front steps leading up to his mansion, his yellowish gaze locked on her, unreadable. Alyra realized that this was the first time she was seeing him since the night she'd spent at his manse while she was still duelling Eredin and his generals. It felt as though a million years had passed since then and now…

The young woman found she was not sure how she felt about the viceroy: he'd always been clear with her that he was no friend of hers, but then again, he had counseled her somewhat about how to fight against each of her opponents in order to survive them. It had been in the pursuit of an ulterior motive, she knew, but it had helped her nonetheless… then she remembered that he'd told Eredin about her mother and his knowledge might have led to her capture… ice filled her heart and she decided at once that her feelings towards him were not amicable.

"Lieutenant Eatebleidd." He greeted softly as she came near, bowing his head slightly. The elves of Tir nà Lia had begun to hail her by that name and she was not quite sure if she liked it or not.

"Viceroy." Her own voice was curt and her green gaze fell like fire into his stare.

She saw him note her coolness, but shrugged it off and gestured for her to follow him.

"I understand you want to browse my personal collection in search of tomes from your world. I must admit, I did not take you for a scholar."

"Nor am I one. But I can appreciate the value of knowledge."

He glanced at her almost slyly. "One might find oneself wondering why the sudden interest in knowledge, then. You seemed quite at your ease on the battlefield. I'm not sure how tomes from your world can help you train your soldiers."

A wave of anger crashed over her. "Then perhaps it would be best if you let me seek that which I need on my own, seeing as you cannot understand that the training of soldiers in the manner of Witchers takes more than screaming and hacking at wooden posts with dull blades."

She saw by the slight twitch of his lips that she'd fallen into his game of making her pissed and it somehow deflated all her anger. He was teasing her… it was more frustrating than anything.

Ge'els bowed his head slightly as they reached an intricately carved set of big wooden doors. He withdrew a key from the folds of one of his sleeves and used it to open the double doors, which slid open much more silently than she was expecting them to.

"There are oil lamps on the tables should you need light. Take what you need but please be careful: many of the scrolls are ancient and crumbling… I would like to keep them for a few years still. Shall I send a servant to assist y-…"

"That won't be necessary." She answered almost too fast. He raised an eyebrow and she shrugged. "I concentrate better in silence. Can you tell me where to start looking for tomes related to Witcher training?"

"I'll admit I have no idea. I'm not even sure we've ever brought back something of the sort from your world. You're free to seek, however."

With that and a smirk, he was off. Well, joke was on him, she thought bitterly: what she needed was tomes about the Elder Blood… and she was sure to find those here. They were Aen Elle scriptures, after all: Lara Dorren had been an Aen Saevherne and had hailed from this world.

So Alyra began searching, grabbing an oil lamp to bring some light to the higher, darker shelves that seemed to have remained untouched for years… there was so much dust, and she found herself sneezing regularly. She combed through the place rapidly, her eyes flying from one gnarled tome to another, making out the names scribbled there… some were in Elder speech, some in the speech of men from her world, others in something that looked like common speech but… different. She even saw Dwarven runes, but she'd sadly never learned to read them, so the books were useless. A few tomes used odd, stick-like runes that seemed to have been slashed onto the pages, while others used a very pretty sort of scribble that started on the right side of pages and moved to the left, seeming like a twisting serpent surrounded by dots. She browsed absently through those books that she did not understand, a bit amazed at touching something that came from a completely different world…

In the end, after what might have been a few hours of searching, she had a book written in a language that resembled the common speech greatly that described stealth combat, as well as a three tomes about the Elder Blood. One told the story of Lara Dorren and her human lover (she expected it to biased, depending on whether it had been written by an elf or by a human), one covered the lineage of Lara's descendants up to a woman named Pavette Fiona Elen and the final once described Ithilinne's prophecy and the theories that encompassed it. Alyra hoped to find answers somewhere within those pages…

She set the oil lamp on a desk and pulled back the thickly padded armchair that was before it. She placed the books gingerly on the desk, careful not to damage the leather covers and glanced up.

Her heart nearly stopped as her eyes found movement on the wall facing the desk and it took her a split second to understand she was looking into a large hanging mirror. It was slightly hidden in the shadows, explaining why she hadn't seen it before: Alyra moved a bit closer to it, a nervous sound escaping her throat as she studied the gnarled woodwork on the dark frame… the mirror seemed encase in vines, almost as it had been grown onto.

There was a motion behind her and she cried out before her breath caught in her throat and she recognized the almost skeletal face leering at her from over her shoulder.

"Curious little wolf, aren't you?" Gaunter O'Dimm almost growled into her ear and Alyra felt mounting panic in her heart as she found herself unable to move while the terrible man in the mirror stepped forward and suddenly he wasn't in the mirror anymore, he was right behind her…

Gaunter circled her slowly as all she could do was breathe rapidly through her nose and follow him with a worried gaze.

"Stop searching for information about the Elder Blood."

His order was cold as ice and awoke a flowering of terror within her, but she also found herself able to move again. Letting out a deep breath, Alyra immediately took several steps back for safety reasons and stared at the dangerous being before her.

"Why not?" She was careful to make her voice curious and not accusing, as to not seem like she was defying him.

Gaunter stared at her for a moment. She could hear her heart hammering in her chest.

"If you understand the reasons behind the actions I will ask you to take, you will find yourself betraying the Wild Hunt and your mother will die."

Those words hit her like a wall: they immediately silenced any doubts, any arguments she might have had and suddenly made her appreciate the enormity of the universe and the unseen, complex pathways they all walked along blindly… there was a feeling like vertigo within her belly as she opened and closed her mouth a few times, trying to find a question, a comment… trying to obstinate against this demon-man and sate her own curiosity…

But she found nothing. And he watched her patiently as she struggled along to that conclusion.

In the end, Alyra nodded, defeated.

"I told you all you need to know." Walter said at last, his voice gentler this time. Almost kind. "The Hunt is after the Elder Blood and the Elder Blood is destined to stop a greater threat, which is something it will not succeed in doing should the king get his hands on it. The Witcher known as the White Wolf, or Geralt of Rivia, has his part to play. There are many events that will need a push in order to make this all end favorably for the likes of you and me. As I told you before, you are to obey, not to think. I will not repeat myself again." Those last words sent chills down her spine and she nodded.

"Can I… can I still go to my world? To… to get tomes about Witcher training?" She asked in a tiny voice that was most unlike her.

Gaunter nodded. "Yes, but seek nothing on the subjects of the Blood, Ithilinne's prophecy or Lara Dorren. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good." Gaunter came closer and it took all of her willpower not to move an inch. "As it happens, it is time to start setting the great cogs of destiny into motion. Your first task is simple: when you feel the time is right, you must plant the seeds of an idea into Eredin's mind. You must make him realise that in order to achieve what he'd trying to do, it would be a good idea to do the same as he did to you with your mother."

For a moment, Alyra waited for him to continue. Then, she realized he was done. She blinked, slightly confused as his words made little to no sense in her own mind, but she saw by his expression that she had in her hand all the cards he thought she needed.

"How will I know the time is right?" She asked gingerly.

"Oh, you will."

Before his last word had faded from the room, Gaunter was gone and Alyra found herself alone in a quiet library that seemed to have become suddenly much brighter than it was a few seconds ago. She glanced at her oil lamp, as though it had something to do with the tiny flame burning within, just as a knock came from the doorway.

The young woman nearly leapt out of her skin, stifling a cry and turned with hawk-like speed to face a mortified servant that stood there, panting slightly and looking panicked.

"M'lady, the king… the king has requested your presence." The tiny, terrified child wiltered under her stare and bowed out of the room as rapidly as was polite to do so.

Alyra sighed deeply and ran a hand through her dark, braided hair, her heart still thumping. She glanced back at the table, thinking it would be wise to put away the books she'd taken on the Elder Blood before anyone realized what she was up to, but she saw at once that they had vanished from the desk, as though she'd ever pulled them off the shelves.

(0)

Alyra trudged along half-heartedly from Ge'els' mansion all the way to the king's palace, riding slowly on Segomo through the city, taking her sweet time. She had no particular desire to see the king and could feel a growing unease at the memory of their last encounter, which made her bitterly wonder how this one would go. She knew he was no longer in a foul mood, but she hadn't appreciated how she'd been treated last time and had no desire to repeat the experience.

It seemed she reached her destination too quickly for her liking and, once at the palace, she was escorted by another servant all the way up to the rooftop gardens.

Eredin was reading a book, lounging on a comfortable seat in a table laden with dishes, clearly set for the two of them. Alyra approached wearily, unsure what to expect.

"My king." Her voice was steady, at least, and her gaze did not waver when Eredin glanced up from his tome and bore his glacier eyes into hers.

"Lieutenant Eatebleidd." He rose and she bowed her head. "Please, sit."

She obeyed and he sat beside her, gesturing for a nearby servant to pour them wine. The young boy obliged, head low and gaze even lower and Alyra found herself looking at him more than at the king as she picked up her glass and sipped at the fragrant red.

"I must apologise for our previous night together." He finally said in an even voice and struggled hard not to spit out her wine, her eyes snapping to him, unable to hide their surprise. He was looking at her with an unreadable stare. "I was angered… very angered at the outcome of… certain events. My mood was foul and I most probably should not have taken it out on you. "

The silence between them was deafening as Alyra struggled to find words. Various responses came to mind and she tried to quickly analyse each one, weighting the consequence of her words, but she found that she had no idea how the king would react to what she wanted to say, as she did not know him very well… he was watching her intently, awaiting a reply and for a moment, she fought with herself, torn between common sense, which told her to accept his apology and be done with it and the hissing voice of fury that demanded she tell him exactly what she was thinking.

The young woman set down her glass slowly and chose her words with care, speaking softly and keeping her eyes locked with his that he might understand that she did not fear him… at least that he might believe it more than she did…

"You and I…" She squared her jaw. "You and I both know that whatever your mood, whatever your demand, if you call for me, I shall come. That is the nature of our relationship. But…" Here she sighed softly. "But perhaps if you want me to… prefer me to come to you… willingly, shall we say… it is best that when you have such moods you abstain from calling on me."

The silence between them was deafening. Alyra began to wonder how fast he was going to order her killed.

But after what seemed an eternity, a sort of shrewd smile twitched at the corners of Eredin's mouth and he nodded, his gaze unreadable.

"I find that request quite fair. So be it."

He picked up his own glass and they toasted, as though sealing some secret contract. The girl was puzzled for a while, not quite sure what had just happened.

However, the rest of the afternoon went smoothly. The wine relaxed her and loosened her tongue and she spoke lengthily with the king. They ate and drank and he personally broached the subject of returning to her world to gather the things she needed. She sensed him suspicious at first, but the way she spoke seemed to put his worries at rest and within a few hours, she had presented to him the idea that retrieving beasts from her world would not only help practice her soldier, it would also make for a good sport should he decide to host a tournament. Alyra was quite careful to stay well away from the subject of mutations and enhancements, fearful of what the king might do should be get the idea that he needed young boys in order to have actual Witchers. The only smear on the perfect conversation was the fact that he told her she'd be going on her trip with Caranthir, who could navigate her to where she needed to go. Nathiel would accompany them, but the knowledge that she would be seeing the Aen Elle who had tortured her without remorse for a full night did not make her feel very well. She hadn't seen the mage since that awful encounter…

They were brought fresh plates and dishes to sup and the wine flowed red and tasteful.

The moon rose over them slowly, grinning slyly in the night and when Eredin's lips met hers and his hands pulled her close, she found a certain hungry desire had woken in her belly, wanting to be sated.

She went with him willingly.

(0)

Review my friends!


	20. Of monsters and women

Starrat, here you go then!

Lucy, to tell you truthfully, Gaunter scares me too!

Kateskates, I was hoping to see more of Eredin in the books too but I'm at the last one and have yet to read about him… was hoping to get some character inspiration from that. We'll see I guess!

(0)

She woke slowly, calmly. It felt as though she had slept for a hundred thousand years and for one of the first times since she'd ended up in this realm that was not hers, she felt rested.

Alyra sat up amidst the furs and silk sheets and planted a fiery green gaze on the king as he walked around the chamber, getting dressed. He had not noticed her silent awakening and she felt a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach, as though she was observing the world from a distance, a simple spectator of things to come.

The words that came out of her mouth almost felt as though they were not hers.

"You're agitated. What's wrong?"

Eredin froze and turned slowly to her. It was strange: she felt no fear at the thought that perhaps her words had caused him anger… it was although an invisible force was warding her against anything that could go wrong.

There was a long moment of silence while the king stared at her, his glacier eyes burning into the fire of her green gaze, pondering what to answer. In the end, he spoke, almost reluctantly.

"We're searching for… someone. Someone who is very powerful and exceedingly good at evading us."

She nodded. "You've not been able to catch this someone?"

"Worse…" He growled, fists curling. "We haven't even been able to find this someone. It is very… aggravating."

The words that came out of her mouth might have been said in her voice, but they were not hers. And she knew it.

"Does this someone have a weak point you could exploit?" She rose and began dressing and the king's answer was long in being voiced, as he watched her move around the room silently, naked.

"What do you mean?"

She glanced at him. "It seems the best idea to corner someone you cannot cull is to threaten the thing they most care for." She registered the warning look he sent her. "No disrespect meant, my king."

There was a long pause as he pondered her words.

By the time he answered, she was already all dressed.

"Your counsel seems to be more valuable than that of some of the generals in my service…" He smirked in a cool manner that raised the hairs on her neck. "Be gone. Caranthir will come fetch you when he and Imlerith's mage are ready to depart for you world. I have work to do."

She bowed and the world around her seemed to come back into focus.

(0)

Alyra practiced her soldiers through a few drills after a copious breakfast, hiding her nervousness well: she was anticipating Caranthir's arrival and found she had very little desire to be in the general's presence, considering all that he had done to her. So, when she first saw him trot up to her camp on a glistening black stallion, she felt her stomach contract most painfully and raised a hand to stop her fighters. They obeyed without sound, turning their heads and saluting the arriving general stiffly… was that dislike she saw, shining in a few of their eyes? If it was, she was grateful for it. Behind her, Segomo, saddled and tethered to a post, gave out a low, warning whinny that Caranthir's stallion returned ominously.

The general did not dismount. He was in full armor, wielding his staff, his helm under an arm. As he glanced down at her, his face showed only cold indifference and she did not know if that made her angrier than before or… or if she simply did not care anymore. Alyra saluted him, seeing as his rank was above hers and noticed that Nathiel rode closely behind him, his head low. He glanced up when he arrived near her and gave her a small smile, which she discreetly returned. There were two more elves riding behind them, dressed in robes, and about a dozen armored soldiers, accompanied by… Deithren and his hounds. The beast master leered at her and she stared at him coldly, lip twitching over her teeth in a silent snarl.

"Two Aen Saevherne ride with us. They will better decipher the books we need and have a vast knowledge of what is already available here." Caranthir said. His tone was unconcerned, as though he neither cared nor remembered having caused her incredible harm just weeks ago. "The escort is in the case you desire to capture and subdue a beast in your world to bring back."

"Your soldiers couldn't catch and subdue a moth in my world." She answered in a tone just as supremely unconcerned as his. Caranthir's eyebrows shot up and she inclined her head politely. "No offense intended, my general. My own soldiers have been training long and hard and they are nowhere near ready to fight like Witchers… although they are readier than any of the other soldiers in the army."

Caranthir stayed silent a moment, his composure regained. "Perhaps you would like to bring one of your soldiers along, then?"

"I would." She didn't hesitate. "Edrick, Ghevir, to me." The tall fighter that looked so much like Letho and her next best soldier, an Aen Elle with jet-black eyes and hair, both stepped forward. "Saddle horses at once, you ride at my side. Bastion, you have the command until I return."

"Yes, m'am!" The answers were loud and proud as the selected warriors sprang into action.

They were ready to leave in barely ten minutes, during which time she instructed Bastion to drill the soldiers in her absence. He was one of original seven that had remained from the first squadron she'd selected. Of those seven only he, Edrick and a third, Dorian, remained. All three showed great promise and she trusted them as much as any of the others that had trained with her these past few weeks. They'd all shown boundless devotion and respect and somehow, she felt a thousand times safer knowing that two of them were following her back into her world.

She feared Caranthir no more.

She confirmed with Nathiel that they were indeed headed to the school of the Manticore, which was somewhere in the mountains that separated the places where she'd grown up from Zerrikania, where she'd never been. He answered her briefly that they were indeed headed there, but that they would have to work to locate the exact location of the school once they were closer, as no book or person seemed to know where it was, exactly. She could not help on that count… she'd never been there herself.

They mounted up and rode from the camp, under the laden stares of all who trained there. She followed Caranthir closely, Segomo observing the other stallion with unbidden fury and she knew that he would attack should she let him. So she kept her reigns short and her thighs tight around the beast. As soon as they vacated the camp, Caranthir pulled on his menacing helm and swung his staff around, mumbling words to a spell that she did not make out. Nathiel rode up to him and threw out his hands, whispering words as well and observing the mage with care and she remembered that he was learning to be a Navigator as well. With the howl of an angry gale, a portal swirled into being before them.

They rode through, strange company that they were.

(0)

The portal led them onto an uneven, mountain terrain. The first breath of air she took in her own world nearly chocked her: it was hot, dry and arid, so unlike the place she'd just vacated that she coughed several times, trying to regain her composure. Alyra quickly pulled on her tightly woven mask as a hot gust of wind swept a cloud of dust from the parched ground. Looking around herself, she saw that they were standing on top of a long mountain range, which she assumed to be Tir Tochair, because she could just make out the long expanse of sandy desert off to the far east, beyond the last peaks. Vertigo seized her briefly as the realisation that she was back in her own world seemed to hit her… she took a long, deep breath to steady herself and glanced at Caranthir and Nathiel, who were speaking in low voices.

Their horses, well trained beasts that they were, had not even shifted during the sudden change, but she could tell that the soldiers were all as destabilized as she was with the sudden climate change. Only Deithren and his hounds seemed unaffected, all of them leering hungrily around, as if hoping to devour the very rocks. Alyra felt a twinge of hate for the beast master.

Finally, Caranthir and Nathiel finished conferring and the Navigator raised his staff anew. It felt odd to see the glacier orb glowing with its cool light in such a warm, dusty place… he raised it high over his head and suddenly, a great flash filled the sky as balls of lights exploded from his staff and sped off in various directions around them.

Nathiel backed his horse up to hers.

"Seekers. They'll find what we're looking for." He explained in a low voice, catching her curious expression. She nodded and dismounted as she saw Caranthir do the same. The rest of the soldiers followed suit.

The next few hours were very dull as they awaited for a response from the seeker orbs. Caranthir had removed his helm and was gazing absently into the distance, while the two scholar elves spoke together in low voice, rummaging through the bags on their saddles and pack mules. Nathiel kept close to the other mage while she remained with her own two warriors, the rest of the soldiers keeping a distance, along with Deithren and the hounds.

"So this is where you're from?" Edrick asked as the silence became unbearable. He looked around at the rocks and dust with an amused expression and she rolled her eyes with a slight smile.

"Don't be daft. I wasn't born under a rock. I come from a place just west of here known as Toussaint. It's nothing like the mountain range…"

"What is it like?"

She smiled almost fondly. "It's full of hills and grass and trees… and people drunk on wine. Toussaint has the perfect climate for grapes, you see."

Edrick nodded. "Do you miss it?"

She shot him a hard glance and he looked down, his blue eyes flashing in apology.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

She shook her head and sighed. "No, don't… it's not your fault."

But she didn't answer his question. Perhaps she knew that the words that were about to leave her mouth might be seen as a form of treason towards the Hunt… a situation which she wanted to avoid at all costs, lest her mother become cursed…

Speaking of which, her mind turned to thoughts about Eliaine. She wondered, sadly, if the elven woman was alright… this was the closest she'd been to her since they'd last seen each other… had she found Letho or Lambert? Were either of the Witchers even alive to help her out? Alyra remembered briefly her few short encounters with the young Witcher woman that fought alongside a wyvern and wondered why she hadn't directed her mother to her for help… then again, there had been no time to explain to Eliaine who to look for… and she didn't know if the young woman was still alive: it had been a couple years since she'd seen her last.

"I don't even remember where I'm from." The voice startled her from her reverie and she realized it was Edrick who had spoken, in such a soft tone that she almost didn't catch his words. She said nothing. "They took me when I was… maybe five years old. I don't remember my mother's face. Can you miss something you don't even remember?"

"Yes. Yes you can." She answered just as gently, as one of the seeker orbs finally returned, streaking through the sky.

They mounted up and the Navigator conjured a new portal, through which they all rode silently.

This one led them at the ruined base of a great stone keep. She looked up and knew at once they had found the school, even if years upon years of neglect made it seem like only a shadow of its former self. It rose, mighty and high, its ruined towers crumbling, its high stone palisades ravaged by time, bandits and beasts alike. But there was an unmistakable look to it: there was something about how it cradled into the mountain next to it, how it seemed impenetrable even if it was falling apart, how there was nothing but impassable ravines and jagged peaks all around, as far as the eye could see…she found courage and determination rise up within her at the sight of this timeless behemoth. It had withstood the ravages of eternity… it stood, even though that the perfected killers that had built it had long since vanished into dust… and it would still stand come the White Frost and perhaps until the end of Time.

Caranthir had to use magic to repair the ruined bridge over a moat that allowed them to ride into the keep. There was an eerie sort of silence as they entered the first courtyard and dismounted, unsaddling their horses and getting ready to work.

Alyra noticed at once a demolished construction that stood a few yards away, unmistakable no matter the damage it had suffered: it was a mechanism that Letho had told her about and apparently all Witcher schools used it. He'd called it the pendulum, but had said that others probably named it something else… however, the basic idea was the same: it was a heavy wooden beam that swung on a rope across beams that stood vertically, atop of which young trainees had to move and learn to parry and swing a blade. It was tough work and everyone fell, covered in bruises, suffering the occasional broken bone, but in the end… in the end the Witcher children could do the exercise blindfolded.

"You." She pointed at one of the Aen Saevherne, who looked at her in surprise. "Can you draw?" He nodded. "Grab a quill and parchment, I need you to draw up plans for a pendulum with what's left of this one and what I know about them." He blinked and immediately rummaged through his bags in search of what he needed. "You." She pointed at the other one. "Go with Ghevir and try and find the library. It should be either on the ground or first floor, perhaps in one of the towers. Ghevir will know Witcher training books when he sees them."

"Would you like me to go with them?" Edrick asked.

She shook her head. "No, you take Nathiel and see if you can't find a way to stabilize and clear the rubble and give us more access to the keep. If any of you see any sort of monster, don't engage it. Come straight back here. Understood?"

"Yes m'am!" Both soldiers barked and set out at once, weapons in hand.

Ignoring Caranthir and the odd look he was sending her, she accompanied the elven scholar and began helping him draw up the plans she needed. If she could get a pendulum built in her world, it would allow her to train her soldiers far more than she'd initially thought she could.

(0)

The rest of the warriors gingerly set up camp, understanding they would probably be spending some time here. A few set off on foot and horseback to see if they could hunt something in these arid mountains, while the rest raised bivouacs and started up a fire. Deithren stayed off to the side with his hounds, still leering at her, but she ignored him. Caranthir was more unnerving at this time: he kept hovering over her shoulder, watching intently at what she and the scholar elf were doing, but she couldn't decide if it was because he did not trust her, or because he was simply intrigued by the pendulum. Regardless, she ignored him as well.

Some time passed and neither of her own fighters had returned.

The air was still and silent, so when the shriek pierced it, it gave everyone a very nasty jump.

Alyra was in motion at once, her bow drawn and an arrow already nocked in, as she pivoted on a single foot to face the direction from which the sound had come: it was from somewhere further into the keep, where Ghevir, the elf, Nathiel and Edrick had gone. She noticed the other soldiers draw their blades unsurely and she gestured at them impatiently.

"Put those away and stay here." She set off with a determined step, but a hand shot out and grabbed her so hard around an upper arm that she almost cried out. Almost.

Her eyes rose to find Caranthir's dark gaze and she saw it to be cold and unforgiving.

"I give the orders around here, girl. My soldiers will go."

She shrugged out of his grasp and gestured behind her, knowing that her time was counted… every second mattered now, because her mind had whirred into action the moment she heard the shriek and had, by now, identified its cause… Alyra knew what they faced and that the others were in terrible danger.

"Then go right ahead." She hissed, eyes flashing dangerously. "They can all die for all I care, as long as it allows the others to get out of danger. Because they will all die. That was a vampire."

She saw uncertainty shimmer in the general's eyes for just a brief second and she took that chance to turn away and rush off into the keep, climbing the ruined stone steps two at a time. She heard Caranthir follow, but not at a pace that suggested he wanted to stop her… her words had found their mark it seemed…

Alyra had recognized the shriek of a bruxa. It was indeed a vampire, but a lesser one, and she didn't think it necessary to mention that information to Caranthir: let him believe there was more danger than he thought. However, truth to the matter was that bruxa were still deadly, especially to untrained fighters like those that were now facing her.

The soldiers followed Caranthir and the odd little group that they were rushed through the keep, all senses on high alert.

Alyra heard the bruxa again before she saw it: there was a long, low shriek that kept escalating in strength until it became so loud one's ears threatened to bleed from ruptured drums… she turned a corner of the keep sharply and raised her bow without hesitation.

The nocked arrow flew just as the bruxa finished her howl. The shockwave from the vampire's voice sent Edrick flying back, his sword slipping form his grasp as he tried to shield Nathiel form the worst of the screech. The bruxa lowered her body to charge forward, but Alyra had predicted her motion: the arrow struck the naked beast between the shoulder blades.

Edrick landed hard on his back, but his eyes found hers. Blood was pouring from a deep gash along his head, and she knew that he had fought bravely up until the moment she arrived. At that very instant, more than ever, she was reminded of Letho through the sheer trust she saw in that ferocious gaze of his…

The bruxa was pivoting, but she was already upon it, her bow flung aside as one of her hands pulled a sword from her hips and the other folded into Igni. She put all of her might into the sign and when she flung it up against the vampire's face, fire engulfed the howling monster, effectively killing it.

But it was not over.

Alyra now faced the half-obstructed, dark opening leading down to the cellars. Edrick and Nathiel had obviously need trying to clear it in order to get in when they had woken the lesser vampire… and it wasn't living down there alone…

A new shriek started to fill the air as a second bruxa leapt from the darkness, mouth yawning open like some maw, filled to the brim with razor-like teeth. Alyra folded her fingers into Quen and pulled her second blade out so fast it sung, slicing through the very air.

An arrow passed her cheek, coming from directly behind her, so close she actually felt the feather that fletched it brush against her skin. She did not need to turn around to know that it was Ghevir who had loosed it… the Aen Elle was the only being present she knew to be able to pull off a shot like that.

The arrow caught the dodging bruxa in the cheek, forcing it to cut its screech short and giving Alyra an opening for an attack. She charged in at once, lightning-fast, her twin swords singing through the air. The bruxa snarled and vanished into the air, turned to smoke. Alyra let it pass, praying that Ghevir and Edrick would be able to handle it, because a third one was emerging from the catacombs…

Except that this was no bruxa, it was an alp…

 _Fuck me sideways._ Was Alyra's only thought as she recognized the creature. It was by far more dangerous than a bruxa…

Behind her, she heard the chanting of spells and she recognized both Caranthir's helm-muffled voice and Nathiel's soft murmur, only that the mage seemed to be stuttering his words… wounded or afraid, she could not tell…

The alp was upon her while a final bruxa sped from the cellars, howling, going straight for the fighters behind her… the monster probably thought her already no better than dead, facing against the alp…

The monster was wrong.

The alp was upon her.

Alyra swung a sword and feinted sideways with every ounce of speed she could muster under the circumstances. The alp fell for her trick, dodging around the blade and giving her just enough time to drop her other one and fold her fingers into Aard, projecting all her strength into the magic with a desperate howl. By some near miracle, it worked and the vampire took the full blow, flying back with an ear-splitting screech.

Alyra knew her time to be counted, so her hand immediately jumped to her belt and ripped the Thunderbolt vial from one of her pouch, all while she moved to pick up her dropped sword. She uncorked it with her teeth and took a long swing of the potion, praying she hadn't just overdosed herself. Meanwhile, the alp had risen and, without the slightest hesitation, launched herself, all claws out, at the girl…

Who wasn't ready to parry the attack. The beast's wicked claws caught her across the chest, drawing sparks over the blended chainmail and leaving marks in the hardened leather. Alyra stepped back to get out of the way, but the alp pushed on, trying to grab onto her, her long talons drawing lines of fire along the side of her head.

The Thunderbolt coursed through Alyra's system and she nearly doubled over from the sudden jolt of pain it sent through her entire body, but the sheer fury and power that filled her just after were enough to keep her steady. She pivoted on a foot, dodging away from the alp's renewed attempt to slice through her and crouched down rapidly, swinging her sword low. The beast did not expect this and the blade caught it in the leg, cutting deeply into the greyish flesh. The vampire stumbled back with an agonized cry and Alyra sprung up, pirouetting and following suit as to not give it a chance to regain its composure. She saw the alp open its mouth wide to fill its lungs with air and let out another shockwave screech, so she chucked her other blade at it, feinting for its face. As expected, the vampire lowered herself to avoid the sword, but Alyra actually aimed at its midsection, allowing the blade to plunge into the beast's ribcage as it went down.

The alp stopped trying to screech at once, grabbing onto the sword that protruded from its chest with an almost comically surprised look. Having once hand free, Alyra did not even hesitate: her fingers folded into Aard with fluid grace and the sign sent the monster flying back anew, where it landed on the stone ground with a pained groan. It struggled to rise, but was too slow: an overdriven Alyra was upon it in a blink, her remaining sword plunging next to its brother, right into the alp's heart.

The runes that covered her blades glowed with magic and the vampire exploded into a cloud of dust, effectively dead.

Alyra did not waste a moment, knowing that the battle behind her was still far from over. She turned to analyse what sort of damage the two remaining bruxas had caused…

One had gone after the squadron of soldiers and was currently busy tearing the arms off a third one, while the others tried to catch her, their swords a thousand times to slow… one hound lay on the ground, bluish blood trickling from is half-severed head and Deithren seemed to creep back with the rest of his pack. The second bruxa had wound up against a wounded Edrick, exhausted Ghevir and visibly overwhelmed Caranthir. Nathiel lay on the ground, immobile, but Alyra did not even have the time to find emotions and worry for him… she was already rushing forward. Caring more for her own soldiers than those she did not know, she went for that bruxa first. The young woman rushed up behind the raging vampire without making a sound, as though her feet were made of feathers… at the last possible second, she caught Edrick's eye from behind the beast and it seemed an unspoken understanding surged through them like lightning.

Just as Edrick pointed his sword straight forward, she reached the bruxa and folded her fingers into Aard right up against its back… the energy blast sent the vampire flying forward with such force that it impaled itself on Edrick's sword all the way to the crossguard. Ghevir was upon it at once, a dagger appearing in his hand almost like magic, opening the vampire's throat ear to ear with a swift, precise motion. Edrick shrugged the dying bruxa from his blade.

Without speaking a word, all three fighters moved in unison, face grim and set, towards the final bruxa.

Edrick stepped off to the side and she noticed his heavy limp… there was blood flowing from a large gash in his thigh…

"Hey ugly!" He bellowed in a voice that was so deep it rumbled and the bruxa immediately freed the fourth soldier it had been tearing to shreds, releasing a monstrous howl as it turned to face the voice that had called out to it.

Alyra was already rushing towards it when another of Ghevir's arrows whistled past her ear and found its mark in the vampire's mouth, piercing through one cheek and going out through the next, effectively silencing it. The beasts stumbled from the impact and Alyra dodged around its grasping claws, moving far faster than it thought her to be able to. Her sword caught it in the stomach and she put her weight into the blade, pushing it through its body and along its side, slicing deep and long, all the way to its spine. When she reached its back, she ripped her sword out almost angrily, spraying blood and guts all over the stone ground.

Behind her, the bruxa collapsed to its knees with a groan and exploded into a cloud of dust as it expired.

Alyra let out a breath she did not know she had been holding and turned around to assess the damage.

(0)

This chapter is slightly longer and as always, sorry for the delay between posts, but school is just taking up so much of my time. Know that I haven't forgotten you!


	21. Gamblers

Lucy, thanks, I do enjoy writing the action scenes! I'm reading the last witcher book and was hoping for a better insight into Tir nà Lia and its people, but the tidbit Ciri spends there seems very short (unless we get more later on, but it doesn't feel like it). I like what CD Projekt Red did with the characters a lot more than what Sapkowski wrote, to tell you true.

Starrat, even if it feels copy-pasted, thanks for your comment! I'm glad you like my story!

Kateskates, so happy you liked it! It was intense!

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Her heart hammered in her chest, burning because of the Thunderbolt. It felt as though her skin was about to catch fire, as though her mind was pressing so hard against the sides of her skull that it was going to split it open… Alyra realized she had taken too much of the Witcher brew…

Edrick collapsed to a knee with a groan and she moved towards him with concern, her teeth clenched so tightly shut it felt as though she'd break her jaw. Ghevir was at his side at once, elven hands deftly undoing the large fighter's cuirass to expose the deeply sliced thigh. Both of them glanced at her, noting her deeply agitated state.

"I've got this." Ghevir nodded solemnly. His glance trailed over Nathiel, who laid motionless nearby and to the dark opening to the cellars that seemed to yawn menacingly at them. She moved away without a word, heading for Nathiel.

Silent fear clenched at her stomach as she neared the fallen mage, her worst dread boiling in her heart… he seemed so unmoving that she was sure he was dead…

Alyra kneeled next to Nathiel and turned him over. Before she could check for his pulse, the handsome mage groaned painfully and his eyes flew open, unfocused and confused, squinting up at her face. She noted the red, swelling gash on his forehead.

"You alright?"

He groaned again and struggled to get up, but she pushed him down.

"Stay put. Ghevir will come see you as soon as he's done with Edrick. Are you going to be alright?"

Nathiel nodded slowly, his eyes finally focusing on her, betraying much pain. She got up without a word and walked off.

Alyra went for her bow, which she'd flung aside at the start of the fight and swung it over her shoulder, picking her shot arrows from the ground to place them back into her quiver. She drew both her blades and set off with a fast, determined step towards the dark cellars.

A voice boomed behind her. "Where do you think you're going?"

She turned swiftly to face Caranthir, who was overseeing his own wounded soldiers. The Navigator's gaze was hard and stony and she could see Deithren leering angrily at her from behind the tall Aen Elle.

"Going to make sure there isn't more of them hiding down there."

She wanted her tone to be hard and unyielding, but she knew well that, unfortunately, she was under Caranthir's control due to his rank.

The mage stared at her for a moment and she could tell that he was debating whether he should order her to stay put or let her go face this surprisingly dangerous situation alone.

"Report back when you've cleared the area." He said without emotion after a while. She let out a breath and nodded, turning stiffly away to march off into the darkness of the cellars. Alyra knew he'd come to the right conclusion: that she was far more powerful than he'd initially thought and a lot better trained to face the vampires than he or any of his soldiers were.

The young woman descended the jagged steps into the shadows, her every sense so acutely aware that it was almost unbearable. Either way, she knew that if she didn't move… if she didn't so something… the Thunderbolt was overdriving her system… it was worse than taking too much fisstech. Alyra smelled the dampness of the air around her and made out a ruined torch on the wall nearby. She folded her fingers into Igni to light it, trying to project just a bit of power into the motion, but her overdriven system flared and she nearly set fire to the ceiling.

Thankfully, the torch caught fire as well and she was able to put away one sword to grab it and light her way into the twisting stone corridor. Shadows danced and sprang around her on the walls and it seemed every rustle was the sound of a vampire rushing up behind her… her heart beat so fast in her chest she was sure it could be heard for miles around.

There were rooms adjacent to the corridor, but all of them seemed ruined and empty as she passed them. After a while, she went down more steps and reached a large, domed chamber that her flickering torch was unable to completely fill with light. The young woman pricked her ears and stared around sharply, making out bookcases, tables and what seemed to be a complex alchemy laboratory against the chamber's walls. She moved silently through the area and came up on a strange, metal table covered in clasps…

It took her a moment, but she seemed to understand what it was… both Letho and Lambert had told her about such a contraception being used in the Trail of Grasses to mutate young Witchers… seeing it, she understood why so many young boys had died… whatever made it so that they needed to be strapped down so hard onto a metal table in such a depressing place surely was not something a lot of people survived…

There was a soft sound to her left and she pivoted on a foot, brandishing her torch, her sword gleaming angrily in its flames as she moved into a defensive pose.

"Come out. I know you're there." Her voice sounded a lot more confident than she felt, echoing eerily off the walls.

There was another ruffle and a small figure emerged from behind a toppled bookshelf, shuffling unsurely into her light.

Alyra recognized a small, young bruxa, her mouth pulled back over sharp fangs in a snarl, but her eyes full of terror. She lowered her blade slowly, without relaxing.

"Are you the last?" She asked.

The small bruxa growled, trying to be threatening and failing miserably. In the end, she nodded slowly.

"Is there another way out of here?"

The bruxa stayed silent for a long moment, but finally nodded again. "Yes, a passage in the back. It led out further away into the mountain, but collapsed some time ago and became accessible closer to here."

Alyra stared at this small, deadly beast. She knew that if push came to shove, it wasn't the bruxa that would walk out of this cellar. And she somehow felt no desire to push and shove.

"Good." She relaxed slightly. "You're going to take that passage. You're going to take it out of here and collapse it on your way out so that nothing else can crawl through there. Then you're going to run as far as your legs can carry you and never come here again. Understood?"

The bruxa was still snarling, but the expression seemed dull, sad. "You killed my sisters." It said at last, almost pouting.

Alyra growled. "And I'll kill you too, if I must. Now… what will it be? Life or death?"

The bruxa stood up straight, shrugging. "What is life, when all that which you cared for is dead?"

Alyra shrugged back. "I don't know. You tell me."

They stared at one another for what seemed to be a very long time. In the end, the vampire shrugged again, turned and rushed off into a passage at the far end of the room. Alyra stayed there for a while still, staring after the vanished beast, lost in thought.

(0)

She checked that the bruxa hadn't lied and that she had indeed collapsed the passage before returning towards her group. Her torch burned out before she could leave the cellars, but she remembered her way well and didn't even stumble in the darkness as she emerged and found her allies in the ruined courtyard.

Nathiel was up and functioning again, his head bandaged up, magically healing the soldiers' wounds. Edrick sat a ways off, his leg in a poultice and seeming to brood, while Ghevir sat next to him and chatted softly. Both turned their heads to her when she came out and nodded respectfully. She had a feeling that this whole fight would be talked about for some time when they got back home…

Once everyone was able to walk on their own again, they set back through the courtyard under the rapidly setting sun to reach the camp they'd made by the keep's entrance. They got there about the same time as the three soldiers that had set out that morning to hunt and the only good news of the day consisted in the two large goats they had shot down a few hours earlier.

They started a fire and roasted the beasts on spits, chatting softly amongst themselves.

Alyra noticed the pensive looks Caranthir kept sending her, but she ignored them, just as she kept ignoring the haughty leers she got from Deithren. Edrick and Ghevir, it seemed, were unable to do so as well…

"Just say the word, boss, and I'll go shove one of his hound up his arse." Ghevir snapped lowly after a while, noting how the beast master was looking their way for the umpteenth time that evening.

Alyra chuckled and Edrick smiled.

"Believe me, I don't need your help for that. Just ignore him." She counseled wisely.

Ghevir nodded solemnly. "Yeah, you would have no problem getting rid of something as lowly as that cur. I mean… after what we saw you do…" He glanced at her, almost embarrassed. "Not that I had any doubt… I mean…"

She smirked. "Say it. It's because I'm a girl."

Ghevir seemed to want to melt into the ground and it sent both her and Edrick into fits of laughter.

"This is why I want you to face this sort of monster." She said softly, in the end, when their laughter had died out. "Training is one thing… but facing an enemy, when all that is standing between you and death is an uneven mix of your skills and blind luck… I'll admit that bruxa are amidst the most dangerous out there, but it would be good for you all to practice on shaelmaars, or wraiths…"

The talked long into the night and went to sleep when the moon had set.

(0)

The next morning, she personally conducted a sweep on the entire keep with Ghevir and Nathiel. Edrick joined them in the late morning, when his leg had healed enough for him to be able to walk again and they declared the place safe after burning a nest of endregas from a courtyard. The two Aen Saevherne immediately set out at collecting tomes and scrolls and Alyra was quite sure she saw one or two pass that had clearly belonged to mages before… hopefully they said nothing about the Trials.

The sun was setting by the time they had cleared the place, and even if they hadn't managed to capture some creature to bring back, at least their pack mules were loaded with valuable books. Caranthir declared the raid over and they waited as he conjured a portal back to their world and they crossed in silence.

Alyra had a longing, painful thought about her world she was leaving behind before entering that swirling mass of energy back to what was now supposed to be her new home.

(0)

As she had suspected, during the following days and weeks the story of their battle at the Witcher School seemed to have fed every inch of gossip in the city. The Aen Elle she crossed no longer looked at her with contempt, but now had a look of silent reverence, even… was it fear? Alyra found she did not care. In her mind, nothing had changed: she trained her soldiers as she had before, losing one or two every now and again when what she demanded became too trying for some. The king was very busy of late, so she almost never saw him and when she did, their meetings were brief, passionate and often wordless.

So when she supped with him for the first time in a long time, they had their first real conversation since before she'd gone to her world… which ended with what might be considerate as their first real clash of ideals.

As usual, he was silent about whatever it was that he was doing in his busy times, preferring to discuss any and all matters that came to mind. But this time he broached a subject that she considered most serious and it sobered her up at once, forcing her to settle her glass of wine aside and stare at him with unveiled disbelief.

"The tomes you brought back from your world…" He began and at once, she knew were this was going. "The scholars have read through most of them and they seemed to have found some that were most interesting…" His eyes bore into hers and she held his gaze. "They covered, in detail, the process necessary to turn a young Witcher in training into a full, mutated Witcher."

The silence that fell between them weighted a thousand stone. Alyra sat, motionless, barely breathing, waiting for the king to continue.

"It seems you… avoided mentioning it was possible to induce these mutations to make fighters faster and stronger. Why is that, I wonder?"

She had no idea what to answer to that without betraying that she'd hoped he'd never fall on the information, so she remained silent.

"Of course,' the king continued, sipping his wine and staring at her over his glass. 'I knew that Witchers went through some sort of morphism to become what they are, I simply never knew in _excruciating_ detail what those changes could be…"

"You cannot mutate adults. The death rate is a 100 per cent." She answered bluntly. She dared not talk about the children, even if she knew they'd inevitably broach on the subject.

The king seemed to read her mind. "I understand that that's the reason why they train young, hearty boys." His smile was as cold as ice and she felt fury fill her heart. "Under the light of this new information, I have a new task for you: you will, starting tomorrow, raid with the Hunt to various worlds to collect young boys below the age of seven. You will bring those boys back here and train them alongside your soldiers. When the time is right, Caranthir will perform the Trial of Grasses upon them and the survivors will resume their training with you. You'll find yourself leading two squadrons: one of your present soldiers and one of Witchers. I understand that four boys in five die from the Trials, as such, you will bring back more than what you think is needed."

"No."

He hid his surprise well.

"I beg your pardon?" His voice was so silky it was sharp as a razor. She saw death in his eyes and she did not look away.

"You heard me."

Her palms were sweaty and her heart was pounding, but her voice was steady. She was glad of that.

They stared at one another like two wolves measuring one another before a battle to the death. Neither would fold: that much was sure. They appeared to have reached a stalemate.

The king set his glass down. "You would betray the Hunt…?"

"What you're asking me to do goes beyond what I'm prepared to do to protect my mother." She snapped. "If I do this… if I rip babes from the arms of their dying mothers to drag them to a world that is not theirs, to push sure death down their throats in the form of potions and brews and brutal training, I know… I know Eliaine would rather die a thousand deaths and I would rather watch her do so every time than do that."

There was no negotiating with those words and he knew it. She saw it in his eyes as he stared at her coolly, calculating what to do next. Her tirade over, she reached for the glass of wine and drank it down lengthily, emptying it completely. A human servant appeared almost out of mid-air to refill it and she let him, nodding absently.

It took a long time, but the king finally spoke up.

"Allow me to propose a… bet of sorts then. Do you accept?"

She was cautious. "What is it?"

The way he smirked made her feel uneasy. "I'll give you… say… seven months to train your soldiers. After those seven months, I'll bring back beasts from your world. A wide variety of them and, if possible, the most dangerous ones. You and two fighters of your choice will stand against those beasts. If you win against all and none of you die, I will drop the idea of raiding for children and mutating them. If you lose or if any of you die, my first-most priority will be to build and army of Witchers."

The idea cascaded through her rapidly as she tried to analyse her chances, figure out the probabilities she could win against obviously tricked odds…

Alyra opened her mouth to respond, but Eredin raised a hand and stopped her.

"I'm not done. Since your goal is to prove to me that mutations and potions don't make the Witcher, you won't be allowed to rely on your brews. I'll accept you base magic, but your victory must come from skill alone. Deal?"

Her mouth was full of ashes.

"Deal." She whispered in the end, feeling as though she had signed her soul away to the devil himself.

They toasted in mock celebration and Alyra felt the weight of a thousand innocent boys' lives settle comfortably on her shoulders.

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Short one, but I wrote it in a single evening. I've had a very long week with a lot of exams and have more coming up. If I don't post this tidbit, you might be a while without anything.

Please review, you guys give me the strength to carry on!


	22. Like gladiators

NOTE : Thank you all for your patience. Last few weeks of school were rough, with exam and all, but everything went very well.

Kateskates: Alps were indeed a pain… owned me on my first play through, especially that super creepy one near a hut in Toussaint… it's a bit south of the talking-Roach quest and just suddenly goes from being a hooded figure to attacking you…

Lucy, thank you very much! I've finished the books this week and honestly they were a bit disappointing. It's just that Sapkowski's writing style is such that he uses minor characters for exposition and it feels very tedious and boring. I skipped to the parts with the main characters and it was better.

Guest, thank you much! Please don't be shy to write reviews, yours has really warmed my heart and was wonderful to read. I'm really glad I can get you to follow my story with so much intensity and comments like that make me want to write more. Hope you enjoy this chapter, I thought of you writing it! Lots of intense scenes!

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Alyra twirled her swords in her hands, a smirk playing on her face. Edrick and Ghevir circled around her slowly, the first with his long blade drawn and the second with his bow nocked with an arrow, its string held gently between deft fingers. She knew he could draw it to his cheek and loose a shot faster than she could blink. As such, she kept him in her sights more than she did Edrick, who she knew had to at least cross the two yards that separated them before he could do her any harm. She was wrong in her assumption.

Edrick moved like a viper, one hand drawing a small knife from his belt, which he threw at her with a swift motion that she barely registered as she moved like lightening to parry the twirling blade. Alyra thanked the gods for her inborn reflexes as the knife bounced off her own swords and went sideways; Edrick hissed in anger. Behind her, a soft sound no louder than a sigh betrayed the arrow that Ghevir had just loosed from his bow.

Alyra had been about to pause her motion, but she pivoted and kept going, twirling on herself and bringing a sword around almost blindly as all her senses but her sight informed her where to position the blade to save her life.

The whispering arrow hit the sword squarely and splintered upon impact.

Beyond it, Alyra caught the utterly astonished look Ghevir was sending her. It seemed no matter how long they had trained together, the speed at which she moved was still beyond him.

Behind her, she heard the rushed footsteps of one charging into battle and she turned rapidly to meet Edrick.

Her swords leapt up and drew sparks as they collided with his blade. The force of his blow staggered her: it was always a surprise to her how he could be so monstrously powerful while being so deft and quiet… it was as though her brain was unable to wrap around the idea, no matter how often she saw him in action. She jumped aside and rolled in the sand, bringing Edrick between herself and Ghevir and assuring the latter could no longer fire arrows her way. Her giant warrior slipped at once like a snake into combat and she found herself dancing around with barely enough speed to parry him as he brought her time and time again into Ghevir's line of sight and the Aen Elle shot arrows at her with lightning speed, forcing her to dodge those as well.

But where both of them where exceptional fighters, faster, stronger and smarter than any other fighter she had, she was still much faster. They'd trained together long enough that all three knew one another's moves, so Alyra knew that if she had any chance of winning, she would have to outsmart her opponents, not just out-maneuver them.

So as Edrick pirouetted around her to get a blow in past her defense, she herself moved into a motion they had seen her use a thousand times… it brought her into Ghevir's line of sight and allowed Edrick to slice the inside of her thigh as he had meant to do… but before he could go through with the rest of his attack and grab her, she twisted like a lynx, moving as he had never seen her move before and planted her stare of Ghevir.

Whose arrow left his bow with the gentle strum of the string, flying right at her face. She saw the look of sheer surprise on the elf's face as he realized his arrow was going to be deadly… until her sword came up in the projectile's way, appearing so fast it was as though she had conjured it with magic. This time, she swiped to the side, deflecting the arrow instead of shattering it and it sailed sideways, flying unobstructed, planting itself firmly into Edrick's thigh. The giant let out a howl and stumbled sideways but Alyra was already flying out from beneath his blindly swinging blade, charging at Ghevir with her lips pulled back over her teeth in a silent snarl. The elf hadn't even begun to reach for his arrow or blade that she was upon him like a storm, releasing her sword and folding her fingers into Aard, projecting just enough force into the sign that the elf went flying back like a sack of rocks into the tall wooden wall behind him, knocking the air from his lungs.

Already she was moving, blooding dripping scarlet from the wound on her thigh, heading back to Edrick, who was just struggling to get back up.

In a flash she deflected the blow he had aimed her way, moving past his defense to grab the arm with which he held his sword, crushing it at the wrist with iron-like force. She heard him growl as he dropped the blade and she brought her own sword around to press the tip ever so gently against his throat, drawing but just a drop of blood at the motion.

Edrick look at her, panting, his eyes the color of storms.

"Fine." He snapped as he regained his breath. "You're able to beat us two on one… happy?" He smirked ruefully and she knew he wasn't mad at her.

Alyra winked. "Drinks are on you."

Around her, the sound of screaming, cheering and applauding finally reached her ears, coming from the bar's various occupants as they had been following the intense fight, as her senses shifted from the small arena to the larger room.

She helped Edrick up, glancing with concern at the arrow protruding from his thigh as Nathiel came running forward, mumbling under his breath about useless wounds and recklessness. Behind him came a revitalized Ghevir, walking with his head a little low as the disgrace of defeat weighted on his shoulders. Alyra clapped him pleasantly on the shoulder and he gave her an unconvincing smile.

"Come on, it was just a bet!" She shrugged, as Nathiel pulled the arrow from a snarling Edrick, before mending the wound with magic.

Ghevir nodded absently. "One I should not have let myself get dragged into. I know better than… than to think myself better than you… it's the drinks…"

Alyra held up a hand at once. "You _are_ better than me. I could never shoot arrows like you do, and you have no equal at hand-to-hand with a knife. But you still lack in playing your opponent with ruses. I won because you were expecting me to move a certain way and I didn't. Thankfully, I don't think that particular knowledge will matter tomorrow…"

She feel silent very suddenly and a dark cloud seemed to settle of the small group. They all knew what rode on the outcomes of the morrow…

"Come. Let's drink." Nathiel proposed softly and they nodded, leaving the arena and returning above, to the bar, where they were all four greeted like the heroes of some great war. They soon forgot their worries, but the prospect of what awaited them gnawed at their minds like some foul demon.

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While the main part of her squadron drank like horses in the desert, she, Ghevir and Edrick only sipped at their mugs of frothy beer, exchanging glances and occasionally grinning vapidly as one of the patrons wished them luck in passing for the next day. As soon as the intruder passed, their grins vanishes, wiped from their faces, as the grand gravity of the morrow's outcome weighted heavy on their shoulders. Alyra did not have to remind them of what rode on their future performance: they had trained harder than she ever had in her whole life for the past seventh months and she'd told them more often than she could count what sort of deal the king had proposed her. Both the human and the elf had enough heart to have no desire to imposed death, brutal training and deadly mutations on young boys… as such, they had to win. They had to.

There had been no details about what they would be facing… Eredin seemed to want to keep the element of surprise to himself. All anyone knew was that, two hours past sunrise on the morrow, a great event was planned in the city arena, where three warriors would be facing dangerous beasts to display the combat techniques of the Hunt's new squadron.

Alyra hadn't seen the king for several weeks: she knew him to be busy pursuing a certain someone… a certain someone he didn't know her to know about. She'd also had no news of Gaunter for the last seven months… it was to the point that she was wondering if he'd forgotten about her… she had the fleeting feeling that that wasn't the case, but then again, what did she know? She was but a pawn…

The evening dragged on and the three warriors nibbled some food before eventually sneaking from the tavern, deftly avoiding the drunk patrons that wished to tell them just how much they couldn't wait to see them fight tomorrow… They grabbed their horses from the stables without meeting anyone and rode through the silent streets without a word. The tavern was on the outskirts of the city, near the war camp and it took them little time to reach their barracks, where stable hands took their horses in with bows and revered looks.

The trio trudged to their beds. As they got ready for sleep, Alyra glanced at her two selected fighters.

"We'll be fine. We'll… we'll do fine."

Edrick planted that overwhelming stare of his into hers. "We'll do better than fine. We won't let you down."

Ghevir nodded solemnly.

Alyra stared at them for a moment, the silence speaking louder than words ever could. In the end, she nodded, her face full of resolution and her jaw clenched tightly.

They did not sleep well that night, but at least they slept.

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Alyra seemed to really come to when she came face to face with the huge doors that led into the city's sandy arena. It was as though her whole morning, nibbled breakfast, dressing into her armor, riding here… it had felt like she was struggling through a dream.

Until that moment.

Beyond the door, she could hear muffled cheering and screaming. Beside her, she could feel Edrick and Ghevir standing close, dressed in armor that resembled hers, clenching their weapons tightly and radiating cold, calculated fury. Their presence gave her strength and gods knew she needed every once of it when those doors were pushed open by guards and the sound of the shouting crowd within hit her like a wall.

She set in motion stiffly, her hands on the swords at her hips.

It felt almost too familiar, entering this very arena. It brought an unwanted shiver to her spine, as the view around her seemed to superpose with her memories of this place… to think… it was just over some eight months ago that she had marched in here time and time again, her head held high as fear ground her heart to bits to face the two generals and their king in uneven combat. She was once again entering this place to face tricked odds, but at least this time she was not alone.

The sand beneath their feet was pale and fine. Above them rose a domed roof, covered in vivid frescos that depicted various battles between mixed foes. Around them, where once Alyra had stared at empty seats that rose above the pit, they could now see them all full of cheering, screaming spectators. At the other end of the arena, seated in a loge that separated him and his generals from the rest of the crowd, was the king. Eredin stared at her imperiously and she mirror his gaze, her anxiety vanishing in a flash to be replaced with calculated intensity.

The reached the area just below the king's seating and kneeled before him. Alyra noted that some sort of shimmering netting seemed to encase the arena, rising in front of the seats, all the way to the domed top. It was probably some sort of protective spell, to keep the spectators out of harm's way.

"Rise." The king's voice boomed loudly, and the crowd fell slowly silent, allowing him to continue as Alyra, Ghevir and Edrick stood up straight and proud. "Today we witness the results of a new squadron's lengthy training under a new teacher and a new technique. The three warriors will face against five beasts brought from another world to display just how well they can fare in the face of unknown foes. May your blows be true and your victory resounding."

The crowd erupted in deafening howling as the three fighters bowed their heads stiffly. As Alyra had suspected, the king had said nothing about the deal for training witcher children. It was a detail he wanted to be kept secret, most probably.

"Here we go then." She mumbled as they turned to march to the centre of the arena.

To their left, a large door rose to show a dark corridor beyond. It seemed that as it rose, the noise around her seemed to vanish… Alyra knew it was simply her concentration shifting as her body tensed and she got ready to fight.

She and Ghevir both drew their bows and nocked them with arrows as Edrick stepped forward and pulled out his huge blade, handling it with so much ease one might think it was made of paper. In truth it was so heavy that Alyra could barely lift it over her head with both arms. Edrick could swing it with a single hand. Initially, she'd been reticent in letting either of her warriors take the front line in this fight, but they'd insisted and in the end, she folded, knowing it was stupid to be asking them to risk their lives alongside her if she wasn't willing to treat them as equals and recognize they could handle themselves as well as she could.

From the opening came a horrid roar, followed by the ground-shaking stomps of something big and heavy… something that was running fast.

Seconds later, an immense mass of gray burst from the opening, hitting the edge of the passage with a shoulder, causing stone to go flying, reduced to dust. Alyra recognized the creature at once, but wondered if her fighters did… had they studied the books as much as they had told her they did?

"Guys?" She asked in a tentative tone as the massive beasts roared, momentarily blinded by the brightness in the arena.

"Shaelmar." Both answered in unison, without hesitation.

She smiled.

"Let's begin."

The creature, gray and hard and made of stone, fixed its ugly little eyes on Edrick and bellowed, before leaping forward, rolling into a tight ball that propelled forward with unstoppable force. Alyra and Ghevir scattered from its path, bows drawn and searching for an opening, as Edrick squared his shoulders and stayed motionless. At the last possible second, he pivoted from the creature's path with the speed and grace of someone half his size and weight, being careful to avoid the beast's lashing tail and turned to face it anew soundlessly. Alyra heard the collective gasp of awe that swelled in the arena and found that a proportional feeing of pride swelled up right next to her heart.

The shaelmar reached the end of its roll and jumped aside, surprisingly nimble, unrolling from its ball form to turn and face the fighters. Ghevir saw the opening a split second before she did, and his arrow was already flying by the time she had aimed. She paused her motion, watching the arrow whistle through the air, finding the tiny sliver between two rock plates on the beast's flank, lodging itself deeply within. The monster bellowed furiously, thrashing aside as pain shot through its side. Its motion caused the plates on each side of the arrow to scissor together, breaking the shaft while the head plunged deeper into its flesh. Enraged, the shaelmar rolled up anew and charging at them instead.

Alyra sensed Edrick to her left, ready for the beast. Ghevir leapt aside long before she did, but she lowered her bow and flexed her fingers as the creature rolled ever on, straight at her, shaking the very ground. Seconds before impact, she feinted to the left. The shaelmar changed its course to follow her, but she pivoted to the right and folded her fingers into Aard, carefully aiming at the centre of the ball formed by the creature, where its stone like body did not quite close, leaving her an opening. Her sign was strong and true, hitting the shaelmar squarely where she wanted and forcing the beast to unfold at once while sending it flying towards Edrick.

The fighter raised his sword and swung it deftly, pushing past the half-folded shaelmar and slicing deeply into its flank. The monster howled and thrashed suddenly, trying to swipe at Edrick, who spun out of its reach…

Forgetting about its tail…

The heavy, spiked mace hit him between the shoulder blades and sent him sprawling forward. Alyra clenched her jaw and leapt forward, running full out to be able to reach him and give him time to stand anew. The shaelmar turned on itself, facing the struggling Edrick and she knew at once she would never reach it in time…

The beast opened its fanged maw wide to snap at the fallen soldier, bellowing in fury… the overwhelming noise almost blocked out the feather-like whisper that detonated behind her…

Ghevir's arrow passed her so close that the feathers that fletched it brushed her cheek. It flew forward, a silent death, and pierced right into the beast's mouth, lodging itself deep into its maw.

The shaelmar stumbled back, its cry cut short as it raised its stone paws to try and grasp the arrow, pull it out of its throat…

Alyra was upon it, her blades flashing bright in the light of the arena. There was a sound like the soft song of metal cutting through the air and the shaelmar collapsed on its side, spraying blood all over the young woman. It twitched once and bled out into the sand, effectively dead.

The young half-elf turned to Edrick, who had risen to his feet, and immediately noted the look of angry disappointment in the warrior's eyes. She seized him by the arm and pulled him closer, knowing she needed him to remain focused.

"You made a mistake. Don't beat yourself over it, not now. Learn from it, but do not lose focus. Remember what we've trained and what you are, Witcher." She hissed.

Edrick crossed her gaze and nodded. She saw nothing but determination there and it made her smirk confidently as they got ready for the next opponent, Ghevir joining them at a light trot,

Another door at the end of the arena opened and out came pelting a winged monster, screeching as it hit the ground and flapped furiously to get back in the air. Alyra watched it rise slowly up, her brow furrowed as she tried to identify the beast, following it with a sharp gaze. Ghevir was an Aen Elle and had better eyes than she did, so he was first to speak.

"A wyvern!" He cried out, already nocking an arrow.

She raised a hand. "That's a forktail! Spread out. Watch out for its dives and get it out of the sky! Don't let that tail hit you, it's highly poisonous."

The three of them dashed off in different direction, keeping the rising monster in their sights, Alyra pulling out her bow anew as Edrick sheathed his sword and grabbed hold of his small knives. The winged creature spotted them and dove down with a shriek, its maw opened wide and filled to the brim with razor-sharp fangs.

Ghevir raised his bow, the string pulled back to his cheek, aimed and fired faster than a person could blink. His arrow sailed, a promise of death, but the forktail pivoted ever so slightly midflight and it missed it completely. The elf could not hide the look of shock that flashed over his face as he fumbled for another arrow. The creature aimed its sharp tail at Edrick, who was forced to throw himself aside into a roll to avoid the deadly blow. Alyra shot an arrow at the beast but it flapped aside, lightning-quick, and her shot missed… at least it forced the forktail away from Edrick, which it had been trying to impale anew.

Edrick rose and threw a blade at the winged monster. This time, it pivoted but was unable to get completely out of the way, so the sharp object impaled itself into its shoulder, making the creature dip midair as pain shot through its body and it howled. Ghevir let lose another arrow at the same time as Alyra did, both of them aiming for the forktail's heart, but it suddenly folded its wings and dropped from the sky, avoiding both arrows as it hit the ground with a resounding shake. Edrick drew his sword as the creature charged at him without hesitation, its long, poisonous tail lashing in blind fury.

The mountainous warrior parried the first strike of the beast's tail and immediately began slowly shuffling back as the forktail both snapped at him and stroke with its tail to try and impale him. It lashed out with a wing to try and catch Edrick off guard and trip him, but he moved with the grace of a leopard and slipped away from the blow, simultaneously blocking the deadly tail inches from his skin. His sword twirled like a hurricane in his grasp, becoming hard to follow and his brow was furrowed in concentration, his jaw tight and set. There was no room for mistake in his motions and for the first time ever, his mind was completely devoid of thought during battle: his body seemed to move of its own accord, dancing a lethal dance as though he had done this for years.

Both he and the forktail were tiring. The beast was slower to strike and his arms were beginning to burn as much as his lungs. For a split second, fear slithered into his mind: what if we made a mistake? What if he mis-stepped and died? It would be catastrophic… Alyra would have to raid wor-…

He pushed those thoughts from his mind at once as they distracted him and the forktail's deadly jaw snapped but a hair from his face as he stumbled back to avoid it. Edrick regained his footing and sliced aside the assaulting tail, unable to cut it in half because of the hardened scales that covered it.

Suddenly, Alyra was next to him, her swords sheathed and her bow in one hand. She threw out her other hand and he saw her fold her fingers into one of those signs that she so often used, of which he'd unfortunately been unable to grasp even the basics.

Edrick recognized Aard.

It hit the forktail right in the muzzle and the beast stumbled back a few steps, hissing and snarling. The warrior glanced at the young half-human, wondering why her sign had been so weak: she was usually able to put much more force into Aard, even to the point where he was sure she'd be able to kill the draconid with a single blow. However, the slight smirk that twisted her mouth let him know she had something else planned.

She grabbed him by and arm and pulled him close, folding her fingers anew and concentrating. This time, she used Quen, putting a lot of energy into it and making a golden bubble appear around them.

The forktail seemed not to see it as it reeled back and charged anew with a terrifying screech. Edrick watched it come almost calmly.

The beast hit the shield at full speed and it exploded outwardly with monumental force. He felt Alyra stumble next to him and grabbed her automatically by the arm to steady her, as the draconid went flying back, hollering in pain…

Right at Ghevir, who was waiting for it with his bow nocked.

This time, his arrow did not miss. It was aimed for the heart and it tore through the heart, silencing the forktail at once and ending its life. Ghevir pivoted out of its way as it went crashing by him, lifting clouds of dust and sand as it went.

Edrick heard Alyra sigh next to him.

"Two down…" She whispered.

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Cliff-hanger! More coming soon!


	23. Hate never changes

MaggYme, so it's kind of a bonus for you, you got a bunch of chapters to read instead of just one! Don't worry, I won't abandon this story. It might take longer to write because I'm busy, but I know where it's heading and how it's going to get there.

Starrat, thanks!

Kateskates, all is well, I'm resting (sort of) between 2 school sessions. I start up again on the 17th.

Lucy, thank you so much! I feel like some parts of Sapkowski's books were like the Witcher 1 game… I plowed through them just because I wanted to go through the lore, not necessarily because I enjoyed them. The Witcher 1 game was great story-wise and what was cool was that your choices carried over to the second game, but it's an old one and the combat/travelling was just apocalyptic.

ChollyMax, you did indeed review and thank you so much for it! I'm sure you'll enjoy this website, I know I've been here for nearly fifteen years and still find plenty of gems to read! And thank you so much for seeing this as a DLC story… it's great to know that my readers find the world and characters believable with the actual, existing story.

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Alyra could hear the crowd roaring around them, but the sound seemed distant, hushed. It was like an annoying fly that buzzed around her head when she would try to focus on the task at hand, distracting her from she knew she had to do… she bent her head and shut her eyes for a moment, sighing as she focused inward, blocking the crowd out…

It worked: around her, silence fell. She opened her eyes.

It took her a moment to actually realize that it wasn't her work: the audience had actually fallen silent, their gazes directed towards the same direction. When she noticed this, she looked up and stared in the same direction as them all, her eyes finding Eredin standing in his loge. Their gazes crossed, ice and fire.

She noticed that beside him now stood Imlerith, fully armored and leering at her through the slits in his helm. He had moved out from the shadows behind the king during the battle. She felt a shock strike through her whole body, but no emotion showed on her face as she set her jaw tightly.

The king spoke up, his voice magically amplified. "The first two foes you have defeated with elegance and synchronism. However, it is often rare that a team of three should find themselves matched against a single opponent. As such, you will be facing your last three foes at the same time. May your blows be true."

He sat back down and gestured. Alyra glanced sideways at Ghevir and Edrick, meeting their wary stares with a slight shrug. Had the king planned the battle this way from the start, or had he decided to change the way it went when he saw he might lose his bet with her? She wasn't sure…

A door at the other end of the arena began to rise and the three warriors took in deep breaths, their bodies falling into defensive positions on their own. When Alyra saw what emerged from the darkened corridor revealed by the door, she knew at once that the king had planned this three on one from the start. The choice of foe was such that one on one battles would have been meaningless.

"Dh'oine?" Ghevir wondered, observing the new arrivals, relaxing slightly.

"Stay sharp!" She snapped and he immediately tensed, glancing at her worriedly. "Use your eyes, Ghev. What do you see?"

The Aen Elle stared ahead at the three slowly approaching figures, scowling. "I see… three female dh'oine… one young and two mature… I don't understand…"

"You've seen these before…" She assured. "Just not in that form."

Edrick growled and she glanced at him expectantly. "Bruxa."

"Close. The small one is a bruxa and the two taller ones are alps." She did not add anything to that, not daring to word just how worried she was right now. Bruxas were one thing… she knew she could face them and had high hopes that both her warriors could defeat one as well… but alps…. and two of them…

They were almost as dangerous as a higher vampire. They were faster, deadlier and more aggressive and other lesser vampires, being able to produce a terrible shriek that could send enemies flying, knocked out cold. Defeating just one in her world had demanded the coordination of both her, Edrick and Ghevir… how they were going to pull off defeating two of them was beyond her…

Their fight with the vampires in her world was months ago… they had progressed insanely in their combat techniques since then. The question was: had they progressed enough?

The three females came slowly within a few yards of them, dangerous smirks playing on their lips, just barely revealing the deadly fangs beneath. Both alps looked somewhat human, but with distinctly beastly traits, while the bruxa appeared to be a lovely young woman with no hint as to her true nature. The only way to guess what she was, was to look at the way she moved: it was too silent, too graceful and too feral to be human…

Alyra recognized the bruxa at once, no matter that she had only ever seen her once, in her vampire form, in a dark dungeon beneath an abandoned Witcher school.

"I thought I told you never to come back." She said softly, Edrick and Ghevir glanced at her, frowning, but did not ask questions.

The bruxa sneered, revealing sharp fangs. "You killed my sisters."

Alyra bared her own teeth savagely. "And I promised I could kill you too."

"You're welcome to try. But I have a feeling we're not the ones who are going to be bleeding out onto the sand by the end of this match."

The two alps shifted, their features melting into sharp, cruel ones as their vampire faces appeared, snarling at them. The bruxa did the same, becoming the familiar creature that Alyra had let live after her raid, seven months ago with the Hunt, in the Witcher school of the Manticore. She scowled.

"Did they drag you here or did you come willingly?" She asked, as the three beasts slowly started to circle them. Ghevir and Edrick stayed silent, tense and ready, following the creatures with their eyes.

The bruxa smiled grotesquely. "I came with them when they returned to the school. My sisters and I did not need convincing. They promised us revenge."

Alyra's mouth twisted into a snarl.

"And I promise you death."

The bruxa howled and vanished. Both alps did the same, rushing off so fast they seemed to disappear as well.

"Boss?" Edrick asked, hands tight on his blade.

"You have the alps." Alyra glanced at him. "I know you can handle this."

She folded her fingers into Quen and rushed away from her two fighters, hoping to at least momentarily draw the attention of the beasts so they could have a shot at them. One alp rushed at her from her right and she pivoted like a bolt of lightning, barely managing to slip past its extended, deadly claws. The other alp appeared somewhere on her left and she heard it charging up a shriek. Somewhere behind her, Edrick was howling a battle cry.

And then her attention shifted forward as she knew she had to focus in order to win.

The bruxa had vanished, but the sand that it shifted as it moved did not. Alyra's senses were on high alert, her eyes wide and searching… darting all around as she tried to find some inkling of where the vampire had vanished off to…

Suddenly she saw it: a tiny depression caused by a tiny foot as it set down in the sand, mere feet in front of her. Alyra shifted her weight ever so slightly from one foot to the other and got ready. The world around her seemed to slow down so much it felt as though everything had come to a complete stop… there was nothing in existence other than the beating of her raging heart, the sweat rushing from her forehead and the air that filled her lungs, urging her to fight like she had never fought before.

The bruxa was upon her, appearing seemingly out of thin air inches from her face. But Alyra had been expecting her: she pushed off the ground with her left foot and twisted on herself, pushing the bruxa past her, using the creature's own momentum to stagger her. The bruxa tried to claw at her, but Quen deflected the blow. The vampire shrieked furiously, but Alyra did not give it a chance to regain her balance: she half-held her right blade and folded her fingers into Aard, projecting all her might into the sign with a battle cry that made the crowd around her gasp in shock. The bruxa managed to squirm aside and avoided the worst of the sign, but was still stumbling as Aard hit her in the arm and broke a bone with a resounding crunch.

Alyra pushed her attack, charging after the beast relentlessly. She swung her blades with precision and ferocity, forcing the bruxa to dodge gracelessly away from the blows. Several times it tried to vanish and re-appear elsewhere to catch her off guard, but Alyra took a habit to checking the sand around her and was always able to see the bruxa coming by where the ground shifted. Eventually, one of her sword caught the creature shallowly in the flank, drawing blood and snarls. But in the motion, Alyra over-extended herself and stumbled slightly as she did not meet with the expected resistance: the bruxa saw this at once and used the opportunity to rake her clawed hand at the woman, drawing deep gouges in the leather armor, reaching up from Alyra's chest to her face.

Alyra managed to twist back with a growl, but was not fast enough: the bruxa managed to catch her beneath the jaw and along her face on the same side as her old scar that went from her cheek to her shoulder. There was an explosion of pain that felt like her skin was on fire and she momentarily felt as though all the air escaped from her lungs, as blood poured from the gashes, scarlet.

The bruxa smirked, thinking herself victorious, never for a moment imagining that the young woman would retaliate faster than a striking snake.

Alyra dropped low, drawing one of her blades up in a powerful arc, blood dripping into her eyes, blinding her somewhat. Her blow was calculated and precise: the blade sliced into the bruxa's withdrawing arm, severing it halfway between the elbow and wrist.

The young woman pushed forward, her other blade singing anew as she managed to catch the suddenly retreating vampire in the thigh, drawing a deep gouge in the gray flesh. The bruxa stumbled back, visibly horrified, one arm sliced off and spurting blood as the other swung limply at its side, broken. It seemed unable to comprehend what was going on, as Alyra moved towards it with determined, deadly steps, intending to finish it off. The beast tripped over its own feet and fell down heavily, trying to crawl back as it hissed and snarled and tried to hide its terror.

An alp came rushing at her from out of the blue and Alyra just barely managed to pirouette out of its way, blocking a clawed hand with her blade. More blood flew into her eyes and she tried to blink it away, focusing on the alp as it stopped feet away from her and filled its lungs with air, preparing a deadly screech.

Nearby, the bruxa was struggling to rise, teeth bared and preparing a final, desperate attack.

Alyra was at an impasse: she had mere seconds to decide if she went after the alp to silence its potentially deadly screech, which would mean she would turn her back to a desperate bruxa that just needed an opening to sink her fangs into her neck, or if she hoped to survive the screech by charging the bruxa before it could rise and killing it.

There was a glint-like flash from behind the alp and Alyra just barely managed to comprehend what she saw in that brief instant before her time was up and she had to act: she turned away from the alp and crossed the few feet that separated her from the bruxa in a mighty leap, screaming in rage, her sword flashing through the air like a song.

The next moment, the bruxa's head went sailing through the air, cleanly severed from its body. Behind her, Alyra heard the alp's howl intensify to unbearable levels, but before she could even pivot to do something about it, it abruptly stopped.

Alyra turned and saw the vampire's shocked expression as it struggled to comprehend what had just happened. Behind it, the young woman saw Edrick, situated many yards away in a position that showed that he had clearly just thrown something. He was forced to move almost at once as the second alp charged him down, staggering him and forcing him to focus entirely on it. Meanwhile, the vampire that Alyra was facing had started to scream in pain as it struggled to reach behind its back and withdraw the sharp blade that Edrick had thrown its way. By the shallow, wheezing breaths the creature was drawing, Alyra was able to conclude that the knife had punctured into a lung.

Not giving the beast the time to recover, she folded her fingers into Igni and let her rage flow into the sign.

The blaze that hit the vampire instantly melted its skin, sending it into a pained, panicked thrashing, through which Alyra was easily able to dodge in order to reach it and plunge her sword with all her weight behind it right into the creature's heart. They went tumbling down, Alyra crying out unknowingly when she banged her knee on the ground. She sprawled atop the alp, the wind knocked from her lungs. For a brief moment, it felt as though she would never find the strength to rise again: her ears were ringing, her muscles were burning and she couldn't seem to catch her breath… all she wanted was to shut her eyes and sleep for the rest of the century…

But with an angry snarl she instead rose to her knees, pushing off the corpse beneath her as she pulled her blade free with a furious yank and stumbled to her weary legs. Immediately, Alyra charged off towards Edrick, who was holding his own, just barely, against the alp.

He saw her coming and screamed something. The buzzing in her ears made it so that she didn't hear his words, but she read his lips and understood his worried expression.

 _Ghevir._

The girl stopped and looked around in a panic. For a moment, it seemed as though the third warrior in their party had simply vanished; then, she blinked the blood from her eyes and managed to locate him several yards away, lying face-down and unmoving in the sand.

Alyra rushed off towards him, with a feeling like ice filling her belly every step of the way. Her first thought was unspeakable horror at the possibility of finding him dead… her second was a rueful desperation at the knowledge that if Ghevir was dead, it meant the king would start his army of Witchers…

She reached him and basically collapsed to her knees next to him, turning him over onto his back. The first thing she saw was the terrible wound at the crux of his neck and shoulder, where the alp had bitten so hard it had ripped the leather armor and chainmail off to tear at the skin beneath. She couldn't tell how severe the wound was, so her first reflex was to simply check if the Aen Elle was breathing.

Her eyes ran over his face and met his gaze. She froze at once and it seemed eternity passed before he blinked and a slight, pained smile painted itself on his pale lips. Alyra let out a breath she did not know she had been holding. She said something, but had no idea if the words actually made it out of her mouth, or if he heard her… nonetheless, the elf nodded and tilted his head sideways with a grimace, clenching his teeth tightly.

Her blades lay at her side, discarded. Her hands were shaking and she took a long breath to steady herself before focusing entirely on the bleeding wound on her warrior friend's neck. The sand beneath him was scarlet and she knew she had to act fast, or they would reach the point of no return.

She positioned herself and folded her fingers into Igni.

For the last few moments, there had been nothing but buzzing to fill her ears. But at that moment, she heard Ghevir's chocked, muffled whimper of pain as clearly as though it had been magically amplified like the king's voice. Alyra clenched her teeth and focused Igni into a thin, blade-like flame that she directed at the vicious wound, cauterizing it.

She thought the elf would pass out from the pain. She suspected she would have. The whole ordeal lasted but a few excruciating seconds, but to her it felt as though she'd been doing it for hours. When she was done, Ghevir simply let out a long, shaky breath, crossed her gaze and nodded at her.

Alyra was already up and running, putting both her blades into the scabbards at her sides as she drew her bow and nocked it with an arrow. She wasn't as precise and fast as Ghevir was with it, but she was a damned good shot. As such, her arrow flew, silent and deadly, towards the alp that was assaulting Edrick. It clipped the creature in the shoulder as it moved, forcing it to back off momentarily from the exhausted fighter. Alyra reached him and noted the two deep cuts that seemed to circle his bald head, pouring blood onto his face and giving him a fearsome look. He glanced at her and a whole world of unspoken words surged between them, before Alyra grabbed for her final arrow and aimed at the alp.

It promptly howled at her and rushed off, too fast to follow. The young woman swore, knowing that Ghevir would have been able to shoot it down, had he been able to move.

At once, Alyra understood what was about to happen and cursed herself for leaving the Aen Elle behind. Then again, she had had no choice to assist Edrick, who could not hold off the alp indefinitely. But by leaving their most weakened member alone, she had insured that the vampire would deliver the killing blow to him first, making sure to take at least one player out of the game

Alyra pivoted on herself in unison with Edrick, raising her bow and pulling the string back to her cheek. She saw, almost in slow-motion, how the alp rushed right at Ghevir, who was slowly struggling to sit up. The creature was still moving much too fast for her to be able to target it and by the time it would slow down, it would be upon the elf, and it would be too late. Edrick was rushing forward, despair painted into his every feature, pulling his last throwing knife from his belt.

There was blood in her eyes and she couldn't see clearly.

But she saw how Ghevir moved his hand to the ground, his fingers almost dancing into shape as a gentle purple light escaped his palm and spread around him, forming a perfect circle.

Alyra recognized Yrden.

 _That sly elf._

The alp rushed into the trap unknowingly and slowed down visibly.

Alyra loosed her final arrow, finally able to target the creature, as Edrick let fly his last knife. Both projectiles sped through the air, singing lightly as they went and both of them found their mark in the alp's chest, one of them managing to pierce its heart.

The monster let out an ear-splitting howl, stumbling and flying forward. Ghevir crouched on himself, covering his head as the vampire sailed overhead and tried, in a last, ditch attempt, to claw at him. Its deadly nails raked his leather armor, barely scratching it as it went by and crashed heavily into the sand, coming to a stop after several tumbles.

There was a long moment of absolute silence. One could hear a pin drop.

Then, suddenly, the whole arena exploded into a fiasco of cheering and screaming and Alyra winced, swaying on exhausted legs. Edrick stumbled to her side and they grabbed each other by the forearms, lowering their heads in silent meditation, panting after the incredible effort they had just produced. Then, they let go of one another and walked gingerly to a pale Ghevir, helping him stand on shaky legs, retrieving his bow and swords so he could don them once again. Alyra saw that his wound was sluicing blood still, but the fire had cauterized the worst of it. It would leave a scar, an ugly one at that, but she had long since learned that men liked their scars and wanted nothing better than to tell the tales that came with them. The trio walked slowly towards the loge where the king stood, staring at them with an expression that was impossible to read. Alyra returned his gaze, defiant for the first time in a long time and wondered if he would be honorable enough to keep his word.

Eredin rose and it took quite a while for the howling crowd to calm down and fall silent enough for him to speak.

"Congratulations." His voice was as cold as ice and there was no gratification coming from it. Alyra knew he was supremely pissed at having lost his bet with her, but was also glad at their display of combat. She knew it would be best not to anger him while he dealt with his mixed feelings. "The three of you are still standing, albeit barely, after an encounter the likes of which we have never seen. You have more than proved that your combat technique can match any opponent. Furthermore…"

Imlerith stepped forward. "I beg to differ." His voice was booming and hard and Alyra growled at once, her gaze filling with hate as it shifted to the immense warrior.

Eredin glanced sideways at his general, his expression unreadable. Alyra understood at that moment that he would let the Aen Elle have a go at her simply because he was angry with her for having lost. She decided at once that she was not going to take any shit from Imlerith, be damned where it led her. When she felt Ghevir and Edrick shift next to her, she extended a discrete hand, ordering them to stay put.

Imlerith removed his helm his terrible, tattooed face leering down at her. "The half-dh'oine has shown that she could fight against wild, disorganized beasts. She hasn't displayed any proficiency at fighting against trained warriors."

She scoffed. "Of course I have. You seem to forget I fought against you on several occasions. And I won, general."

There was a collective intake of air from the crowd as a gasp followed her blighted insolence. But she did not stand down, or apologise, or stop staring hatefully at Imlerith, suddenly remembering in vivid details the times he had humiliated and raped her. He seemed to recall those moments too as an ugly grin pulled at his mouth.

"And you seem to forget the times you've lost and submitted like the half-bloed whore you are." He hissed. "You do not stand a chance against a trained warrior of the Wild Hunt."

"Is that a challenge?"

Before anyone could do or say anything, Imlerith crossed over the loge's balustrade and past the magical netting that protected the crowd, jumping down into the arena with them. He hit the ground like a mountain, making the sand shake beneath their feet. Edrick and Ghevir stared at him in horror, before turning worried gazes at this obviously livid leader.

"Alyra, don't…"

"You've just fought five foes…"

"He's rested, this isn't fair combat…"

"Don't do this…"

She planted a deadly stare on them, silencing both of them.

"If either of you interfere, I will take it as your resignation from my squadron. Is that clear?"

She had never used her position of power to place any of her fighters in terrible situations, but she was doing it now. Edrick's face was ashen and hurt and Ghevir looked just about ready to fall over, but both of them nodded stiffly after a moment.

She drew her blades and stepped towards Imlerith, blinking blood from her eyes as he pulled on his helm and pulled out his long sword, twirling it around as though it weighted nothing.

There was a hollow rage within her heart and it was swelling to terrifying proportions. Every instant of fear, pain and despair that she had felt these past nine months seemed to coil within her like some angry animal, feeding her with energy she did not think she had. She thought of her mother, alone and condemned. She thought of the bite mark scars that Imlerith had left on her body when he raped her. She thought of the indescribable pain that Caranthir had caused her months ago when he tortured her. Most of all, she thought of the unspeakable, raw wrath that awoke within her when she thought of the Hunt tearing young children away from their mother's arms to train them in the art of Witcher combat, just because they wanted to have a better army…

She thought on all that and she let the black fury run through her veins.

Suddenly, Alyra was rushing at Imlerith, howling like a wolf about to tear another wolf to ribbons, her swords drawn.

She caught him off guard, pivoting around him like a lynx, her sword drawing gouges and sparks across his armor when they connected. Imlerith twisted, his sword flashing through the air with incredible speed, but she blocked it, deflecting the blow lightly, knowing that if she took all the weight of it, it would break her arms.

There was no more pain; there was nothing but the desire to win.

She flashed around him like lightning and he parried her with ease, but did not managed to push his own attack. They moved away from the king's loge and towards the centre of the arena as he swung his heavy blade at her and she flipped out of his reach, landing with grace on soundless feet and pivoting towards him, her sword bouncing off his greaves with shrieks. Again he swung at her, but she managed to wiggle away from his blow and used the motion of his arms to push herself around him and slice into the joint beneath his arm, drawing blood at last.

His mailed fist came out of nowhere and collided heavily with her ribs, cracking at least one. She snarled and stumbled but was already on the move, dodging beneath his sword and grasping a fistful of sand, which she threw into the slit visor of his helm. By the growl and stagger he produced, she understood she had blinded him. Alyra stabbed past his guard, her sword screeching along his chest armor, almost catching on the rib-like decoration, before slicing up to his helm and catching beneath it. She twisted her wrist savagely, managing to slightly pull the helm off, but Imlerith swung his arm out violently, hitting her in the chest and sending her sprawling back into the sand.

Alyra leapt back up swiftly, her lungs devoid of air, struggling to catch her breath. She twirled her blades in her hands, staring at Imlerith as he tried to right his helm and figure out where she was. She slipped forward, fully intending on delivering a fatal blow as soon as she found an opening.

"ENOUGH." The king's voice cracked through the air like thunder.

Alyra froze in her tracks and glanced at him, wiping her face clean of its murderous stare. Imlerith managed to set his helm back on and sent a final, deadly glance her way before bowing his head respectfully at his king.

The crowd was unusually silent as it awaited with anticipation their sovereign's decision on the matter.

Eredin's eyes were still unreadable as he spoke anew. "Enough of this. I will not have two of my generals at each other's throats."

There was a long pause as he let those words sink in, waiting patiently for everyone present to understand the extent of their significance. Alyra heard Imlerith swear in his helm, as she herself gaped soundlessly at the king, unable to process what she had just heard. It seemed to take the crowd a long time to grasp what had just happened, but when they did they exploded into renewed cheering and howling. Edrick and Ghevir came up to her, offering grim congratulations as she stood there was a permanently shocked expression, staring at the king and his secretive, tiny smirk, somehow feeling that this sudden promotion was anything but good for her.

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It's late and I am tiered! Hope you all enjoy this chapter, it was intense to write! Keep up the reviews, I would love to reach a hundred by next chapter!


	24. Weaver

Starrat, I'm glad you do! Here's another one for you!

Kateskates, thanks! Yeah, the fight scenes are fun and intense to write! Almost makes the plot tedious to write!

Beespoken, thank you so much! I'm really happy you enjoy my writing!

ChollyMax, reviews like yours really make writing worthwhile! I'm glad you enjoy what I do!

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The beer flowed like she had never seen it flow before. The whole city seemed alight, on fire after the tremendous excitement of that morning's display of their prowess. They were carted from tavern to inn, passing the doors of grimy establishments alongside the army's campgrounds, stopping briefly in tiny, cramped bars where the merchants usually hung around, all the way to the richly decorated winery adjacent to the king's own palace, where their long trail of fighters and admirers were forced to remain in the streets, drinking and howling, while they got to taste some of the finest wines and hydromel she had ever touched.

Time and time again, people grasped at them and came within inches of their faces, smiling and laughing and screaming just how they had _loved_ that one pirouette she did, or that one moment when Ghevir had shot an arrow so fast no one had even seen him move, or how Edrick pivoted time and time again with the grace of someone half his size…

Alyra had never in her life been the centre of so much attention, and it quickly became much too much to bear.

So she drank.

She seized goblets and tankards as she saw them pass and barely had time to taste what was flowing down her throat, wanting only to dull the raging world around her. Edrick caught her slightly panicked expression and nodded knowingly, winking at her reassuringly. Alyra grinned back loftily, feeling the room swim beneath her feet. Before the start of this tour, they'd been cared for by medics and Nathiel, who made sure their wounds were cleaned and stitched appropriately. She'd seen Edrick speak with the healers softly, obviously asking them to let the cuts on his head leave a bit of a scar, probably wanting to keep bragging rights over them. Men were fond of their wounds and the stories that came with them, it seemed…

Ghevir had had less choice in the matter: the alp had torn a clean hole in the crux of his neck and shoulder, ripping a lot of flesh and muscle out. Alyra's quick thinking had allowed her to cauterize his wound with Igni and save his life, but the burnt flesh would never be able to heal appropriately. The healers and mage were able to clean the gash and mend it somewhat, but it was currently covered by a salve and poultice, tightly bandaged to avoid infection. The Aen Elle had assured her he did not mind the damage, knowing the pain would eventually fade, but she felt somewhat guilty nonetheless…

As for her own wounds, the one the bruxa had inflicted to her face was less severe than she thought: it had narrowly missed her eye, drawing a shallow gouge over her cheek and eyebrow. It had nicked more deeply on her forehead, which explained why she'd been blinded by blood during the battle… Nathiel had stitched it up nicely and told her it would most probably leave but a tiny scar, if she was careful to keep the wound from festering.

Then the king had come to offer them his congratulations. It seemed as though the very words were burning his mouth, because he almost spat them out through gritted teeth, his anger unveiled. She remained silent, her head bowed, knowing that any comment would probably just feed his fury. Alyra also knew that even if he'd lost his bet with her, he was still a winner, in the end: he had at his disposition a whole squadron that was almost just as good as true Witchers.

The one thing that reassured her in the stormy fury of the king's demeanor was that if he was so angry at having lost, it meant he was planning on keeping his end of the bargain… otherwise, why be pissed with her if he was planning to go behind her back anyways? Or so she hoped, at least. For the time being, she pushed the matter from her mind and tried to find a way to enjoy this chaotic hurricane of a celebration.

Alyra gleaned that such events did not happen often in Tir nà Lia and its denizens seemed to have jumped on the opportunity to wreck of a bit of havoc in their usually peaceful lives. The most excitement they ever got was from the occasional unicorn attack on the city, and those had not happened in quite some time, not since a truce had been temporarily established.

The night went on and they were ushered once again from one establishment to another, which served terrible spicy shots of some sort of very strong liquor. At that point, her mind pretty much went blank and she was unable to remember a thing beyond that point, counting on Edrick or Ghevir to keep an eye on things… she'd had had too much to deal with of late to be able to fight against this anymore… she needed to drink herself into oblivion.

Her last lucid thought was that the king was expecting her the next day in the late afternoon along with the other generals for debriefing and that perhaps she should slow her drinking, but then someone shoved another shot of fire liquor in her hand and she downed it amidst screams and shouting and laughter.

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The next morning found her horribly hungover and curled up in a tight ball in the corner of their barracks at the war camp, a thin ray of sun shining through the open door and right onto her face. Edrick lay right next to her, sleeping soundlessly, his brow furrowed and Ghevir was lying on a nearby bed, snowing softly, a bottle of wine held lightly in one of his hands.

Alyra spent a while just gazing at them both absently, her mind blank. Then, pain from being on the hard ground and a pressing need to empty her bladder urged her to rise and start trying to gather her bearings.

She was still all dressed, and craved a shower. Her head was pounding and her stomach was roiling, as she stumbled from the barracks and into the blinding noon sun, making her way to the latrines. People greeted her, but she only grunted in reply, finding the dark comfort of the latrines almost soothing after the harsh light of the sun… until the overwhelming stench filled her nostrils and forced her to bend over and violently throw up the remains of last night's binge drinking.

Alyra hadn't thought she could possible feel worse than upon waking up, but now, with the ashen, acid taste of sickness in her mouth as she stumbled back outside, she could tell she had been wrong. Feeling as through if she didn't wash up within the next ten minutes she would literally pass out, she made her way to the stables, a murderous look upon her face. Segomo was of course unsaddled and she bypassed the terrified servant that tried to both get out of her way and do everything he could to speed her along her path, and she mounted her horse without even bothering to brindle him. Segomo seemed to know his master was in the worst state he'd ever seen her in, because he was unusually docile as she guided him with her hands in his mane and the pivot of her body, out of the stable and out into the lively yard.

The moment they were in the clear, she pressed her heels into his flanks and the great beast exploded into a smooth galop, bending his head in pleasure. Alyra held on, somewhat stiffer than usual and they passed so close to their barracks that they almost trampled a hungover Ghevir as he emerged into the blinding daylight, squinting and looking slightly green.

Alyra flew through the camp, swallowing the need to throw up again, letting Segomo more or less decide on the path they took.

Beyond the camp grounds they rode on, headed towards a shallow river that criss-crossed the plains. Segomo was used to this trail: they had taken it many times in the past few months, every time she had a few hours free and wanted to relax someplace calming. Once they reached the river, Segomo quickly waded through a sandy section, reaching the far bank and following the water downstream at a steady trot. Alyra took long, soothing breaths, slowly feeling better.

In no time at all, they reached a small pond that had formed when the river moved away from its natural bend with time, creating a quaint pool of calm water that was slightly hidden from view by spiky bushes and a few, small trees.

Alyra slipped from her horse's back smoothly and took her clothes off rapidly before jumping into the cool water head-first. She swam around fluidly, enjoying the cleansing feeling of the water on her skin, as the night's sweat and grime washed away. Segomo stayed nearby, nibbling on the tall grass and walking slowly around the pool. The young woman watching him go, lost in thought. Eventually, she swam out to where the river's current was stronger and drank her fill on crystal-clear water, the cold hurting her teeth, but her hangover slowly fading at the same time. She them stepped out of the water, naked, and picked up her clothes, which she washed and set out to dry on a nearby rock, before lying down to bask in the sun herself. Alyra stayed like this for as long as she dared, knowing that the day was passing and she would soon need to head back to Tir nà Lia for her briefing with the king… there was some fatality in knowing that this just may be the last time she could relax like this, free of any bigger worry… so she obtusely focused on the moment and let herself get lost in the sounds of the wind on the plains, Segomo's muffled hooves on the ground and his soft, periodic snorting.

Eventually, it was time to go. Alyra donned her slightly damp clothes and mounted a docile Segomo, directing him at a fast trot back the way they came. She made it to her part of the camp grounds, where she changed into her armor, grabbed a bite to eat from the kitchens and reassured Ghevir and Edrick, before bidding them farewell and riding out on a saddled Segomo towards the city.

On her way there she decided to ask the king to make Edrick her second in command, should anything happen to her… hopefully he would agree.

At the king's palace, she let a servant take Segomo to the stables and made her way to what she knew to be the king's conference room, in which she'd never been before, but had passed on numerous occasions. She walked there with her head held high, hands on the pommel of her swords, feeling much better than she had upon waking up. The people she passed bowed their heads respectfully and she gave out curt nods, wondering if it wasn't better to act the arrogant one and ignore everyone… it was hard to know how to act now that she was the centre of so much attention. She wasn't used to paying this much care to her behavior…

She reached the large mahogany double doors that led to the meeting room and took in a very deep, steadying breath before putting her entire weight against them to push them open.

Alyra entered the dimly lit room and was immediately hit with a strange feeling: it was as though she had waded into a dream… everything felt bizarrely sluggish and she shook her head to try and clear her thoughts. The sensation persisted and she was forced to move forward, pretending nothing was wrong and checking it off as a side effect of the last night's heavy drinking.

The king, Caranthir, Imlerith, Ge'els and another armored Aen Elle she did not know where all looking at her with various expressions, ranging from curiosity, to disdain, to animosity, watching her come closer as she hid her uncertainty beneath indifference.

Alyra knelt before Eredin. "I hope I'm not late, my king."

"Rise." His voice was somewhat colder than what she was used to, but she thought he sounded less pissed than the day before and did as she was told. "We were just beginning. Please abstain from questioning until Caranthir is done speak, he is to brief us on the progress we've made tracking the sorceress Yennefer of Vengerberg these pas few weeks."

The name seemed to ring a bell in her mind, but she was unable to put her finger on where she'd heard it before.

Caranthir sighed, seeming annoyed. "What little progress we've made, you mean… the sorceress is uncannily good at evading our searching spells and methods… when we last tried to corner her, years ago, it had taken over a year before we even found traces of the varh'he. I still think we have better chances going after the vatt'ghern. We know the girl hold him dear-…"

The king interrupted him with an impatient motion. "I already told you it is a waste of time. Zireael sees the sorceress as a mother and will be more drawn to protecting her, knowing that the witcher is more likely to be able to defend himself. Either way, once wind gets out that we are after her, he is bound to come seek her himself and we'll have them both within our grasp. No matter where the girl is hiding, she is going to come out to save them, as she has before."

The mage nodded slowly. "So be it. My sources tell me she is most probably hiding out in one of the major human cities, but it is hard to be sure. And unfortunately, going out stampeding through the streets would cause enough panic and chaos for her to escape us once again." He sent a pointed look at Imlerith, implying the giant warrior had proposed such an idea.

Eredin's freezing gaze was fixed on a far point of the room as he seemed deeply lost in thought. Meanwhile, Alyra was unable to shake the heavy feeling that seemed to be compressing her since she'd entered the room… she shook her head and glanced away from the large table they were standing around, looking over the king's shoulder at a mirror hanging on a far wall, half-concealed in shadows.

It took her a moment to make out what she was seeing, but when she understood what it was she was looking at, she gave a visible start, her eyes widening, holding back cry that got caught in her throat as a strange gurgle. Eredin blinked and focused his hard gaze on her, before glancing over his shoulder to check whatever it was she was gaping at. The others followed his gaze and she was about to scream at them: "Don't look! Don't look in the mirror!".

With a great effort, she kept quiet and looked away, wondering how they would react… but everyone in the room turned their gazes back to the table with a slightly confused expression, looking at her as though she'd momentarily gone mad…

And for an excruciating moment, she thought she had… until she looked over at the mirror again and saw what she'd seen moments ago… well, it was slightly less terrifying this time.

Gaunter O'Dimm was reflected in the mirror as though he was standing right next to Eredin, but there was no one there in the room with them. When her eyes had first fallen upon the image, he had not been human: there had been a demonic, wild look upon him that had made her want to turn tail and run out of the room as fast as her legs could carry her, but she had simultaneously found herself bolted to the floor. Now, he looked as he normally did, a curious, secretive smile playing on his lips as he gazed at her with calm, knowing eyes.

Around her, the elves continued as though nothing had happened and she turned her attention to them for the time being.

The king was looking at her.

"We are currently attempting to lure a very powerful being, one form your world, actually, out of hiding. This young woman, known to you as Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon and to us as Zireael, is a very powerful being, imbued with the magic of the Elder Blood, which descends from-…"

"From the bloodline of Lara Dorren." Alyra completed softly, just barely glancing at the mirror behind the king. "I know. I'm part Aen Seidhe; I've heard the stories."

Eredin nodded. "Indeed. She possesses the power to step between worlds at will. I trust I needn't explain why that would be of interest to us?" She shook her head. "Good. We are trying to lure her out by trapping one of the people she holds very dear: the sorceress Yennefer. If we can get the Witcher Gwynbleidd drawn into our trap as well, all the best to it. In the meantime… yes?" The king's tone was almost annoyed.

She'd half-raised her hand to draw his attention. "I thought Gwynbleidd was dead?"

"Apparently he's not. Zireael brought him back." Caranthir said in an almost bored tone and her eyebrows shot up at the information: so this Ciri was powerful enough to bring back someone from the dead? Maybe it meant she had other powers… powers that could help Alyra. The girl glanced at the mirror and saw that Gaunter's image had visibly darkened, as though a storm had passed over his face. She immediately chased those ideas from her mind.

"Then the only thing that remains to be done it so stay on high alert as we close in on the sorceress, knowing that the girl should manifest herself shortly after. Once she does, we will be able to capture her and bring her back to Tir nà Lia." Eredin completed.

As soon as the words left his mouth, the room froze. Only Alyra was able to move, as the king and his generals turned into living statues. Knowing exactly what that meant, she turned wearily to look at Gaunter in the mirror.

"Ask them how they're planning on stopping her, knowing she can vanish in a blink." He said softly. She wasn't sure she saw his mouth move, but she heard the words nonetheless and time unfroze at once. Alyra turned back to the table.

"How exactly are you planning on capturing this girl? If she can really walk through worlds at will, what is going to stop her from vanishing again?" She questioned with a shrug. Everyone turned curious gazes at her. It was Caranthir that answered.

"We're going to cast a spell."

She heard Gaunter in her mind. This time the room did not freeze and she fought hard to act naturally.

" _Spells are too long to cast."_

"Spells are pretty long to cast, though. Won't she have time to flee by the time we get there and start casting the spell?"

The king nodded pensively. "Alyrethielle is right." He turned his storm-like gaze upon her. "What do you propose then?"

The question hit her like a stone wall and she found she had no idea what to answer… thankfully, someone else did.

" _A phylactery._ "

She had no idea what that was…

"How about…" She sighed and thought up a quick prayer, hoping she wasn't stepping in with both feet into quicksand. "…a phylactery?" Had she said that right? It sounded like Gaunter had said it…

There was a moment of silence while her heart thumped and then, strangely enough, Caranthir's face broke into a sort of half-grin as he nodded, looking at her with supressed approval.

"No bad…" She heard him whisper. "It could work… prepare a spell in advance… cripple the girl, transform her so she cannot use her powers under her new form… yes, it would work nicely…"

Against all odds, it had worked like a charm. Eredin seemed impressed by her contribution and Caranthir was already lost in thought, probably running over all the things he would need to prepare this phylactery. Only Imlerith seemed sour and really, she couldn't blame him… she felt the same way about him.

But the king was not done talking and Gaunter was not done lurking.

"We need allies in her world as well, eyes and ears we can have on the lookout for her appearance. Imlerith," The king turned to his general. "It is high time you paid a visit to those sorceress Crones of yours and asked for their aid in this affair. I understand they are more than powerful enough to detect and detain the child of the Elder Blood, should she manifest near them." Imlerith nodded and the king turned to her. "Good. You will go with him." She almost protested, but his hard look silenced her at once. "I told you once and I will not repeat myself: I will not have two of my generals at each other's throats. You will go with him and I will not hear a word of complaint about it."

She gritted her teeth and nodded, careful not to look at Imlerith.

The king turned to him once more. "Tell your beastmaster he now serves with Nithral. He'll be our prime scout once the girl is out of hiding and I need him and the hounds to track her if things go awry. Understood?"

Everyone saluted, Alyra a bit later than the others.

As they turned to leave the room, she glanced at the mirror one last time. Gaunter's image was fading from it, but just before he vanished completely, his voice whispered in her ear as though he was standing just inches away from her, raising the hairs on her neck:

" _Ask the Crones if they like Elder Blood._ "

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And here the story weaves into the game. Hope you liked it and if you find any discrepancies, let me know! It isn't easy to keep track of all the details!


	25. Make up your mind

Kateskates, sneaky indeed! That's Gaunter for you!

Lucy, no problem, I totally get you! School and work are keeping me so busy here it's hard to find any time at all to write. This story is taking longer to write than I would have though, mainly because stuff seems to fill the general outline I've made for it all the time. However, you're going to get to see how Alyra still contributes to the Witcher 3 story soon enough!

ChollyMax, hmm a good question! I'd say a value of… 10? She's strong but not unbeatable. Maybe a special effect? She'd be a melee card of course, with an automatic drawing of the Ghevir and Edrick card? Both of them are nines.

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Ge'els approached her as she was getting ready to mount Segomo, wearing an expression she found herself quite unable to read.

"Yes?" She asked cautiously as the tall Aen Elle came to her side and patted her horse on the neck slowly. Strangely enough, Segomo, who was usually not very keen on being touched, accepted the gesture with a soft whicker. Nearby, Nathiel was sitting on another black horse and Imlerith was leading his huge war steed from the stables.

"It is customary for the king's generals to own a manse and reside within it." The viceroy began, glancing at her. "You can either chose to pick from one of the uninhabited palaces available in the city, or ask to have one of your own choosing built in the vicinity. What would you prefer?"

She shrugged uneasily, the question taking her off guard. "Do I have to live in a manse?"

Ge'els raised an eyebrow. "You can chose to remain with the king in his palace, if so you wish."

"So even with the promotion, I'm still his bloody concubine? Makes one wonder why the rest of his generals don't get such an honor." Alyra half-snarled, surprized by her sudden aggression. She hadn't realized it, but she had indeed hoped to have regained more of her own freedom now that she was a general of the Wild Hunt.

"As a matter of fact…" Ge'els said loftily, and for the first time, she was struck with an odd premonition, as though there was a lot more to him than met the eye. Alyra was suddenly both wary and curious. "The king is still cross with you over the whole betting and Witcher ordeal, so he is purposely avoiding you. However, he has spoken to me, being most clear in his instructions: you are now one of his generals and have no different a position or standing than Caranthir, Imlerith or Nithral. Which means you are not bound to him in any other manner than in servitude of the Wild Hunt. You are free to sleep wherever and… with _whomever_ you wish."

Those words struck her hard and she did not know what to make of them. Seeing her unable to formulate an answer, Ge'els kept going.

"I do however believe he would be even more cross should you chose to completely avoid him. I would perhaps recommend you let him cool off and resume your relationship as it was. But you are free to do as you like."

Alyra sighed lengthily, fiddling with Segomo's saddle as she noticed Imlerith staring at her impatiently. If she was no longer considered the king's concubine, did that mean that others were free to try courting her? Did that mean… that Imlerith could come after her again? The thought sent unpleasant shivers down her back.

"What will it be?" Ge'els prompted her and she looked at him despairingly. "About the manse?"

"Oh…" She shook her head to clear it. "Can I… can I just have a small place built next to my soldiers' barracks? Would that be alright?"

He seemed to ponder that momentarily. "I don't suppose it'll cause any sort of issue."

Alyra nodded and put her foot in a stirrup, rising up gracefully into the saddle. Before she could leave, Ge'els laid a gentle hand on her leg and she glanced down, confused at the gesture.

The viceroy was looking up at her with those yellowish eyes sparkling strangely.

"If you should ever find yourself longing for a night away from loneliness, know that my door is always open to you, Alyrethielle."

With that, he turned and walked off lightly, leaving her with a very perplexed look on her face. For a few seconds, she wondered if Gaunter was still weaving his magic and messing with her mind… what had all that been about? The girl kicked Segomo into motion and followed Imlerith, Nathiel and three armored soldiers into the portal that the mage had produced. She could not shake the itching feeling that some unseen force had set off a very precarious chain of events into motion and that her fairly quaint existence was about to crumble into a mess of chaos such as she had never seen.

They emerged into a very damp marsh and she immediately pulled on her tightly woven mask to protect her nose from the smells and her lungs from the potentially poisonous gases. She saw the huge general talk lowly with Nathiel, who then seemed to cast some spell to find the path they had to follow… it took a moment before they set out again, their horses wading in the shallow waters. The air around them was heavy and strangely quiet, as though not even the wind dared sneak between the mossy branches here.

Meanwhile, Alyra did a bit of introspection, trying to make sense of her situation.

Her relationship with Eredin had grown cool ever since they had made that bet about a Witcher army. She'd become engrossed in incredibly intense training sessions with her soldiers and he was too busy chasing Cirilla, meaning they had seen each other less and less often as the months progressed. Last time she'd visited him in his palace was some two months ago and their exchange had been tense, aggressive and cool, ending with an even bigger gap forming between them. It had bothered her slightly, because she had so far enjoyed the king's touch and general presence, neither loving nor hating him for what he had done to her. It had become easy to meet with him and sleep with him and now even that was gone…

But by making her a general, he had supposedly freed her of her sexual obligation to him… this meant that she could perhaps consider seeking solace elsewhere, even if she knew, deep down, that it would be wise to return to Eredin…

Alyra's mind immediately turned to Ghevir. She had a very close relationship with the Aen Elle, having a lot to talk about with him and feeling a solid connection between their beings. He was attractive and pleasant and she felt he had often expressed more than simple camaraderie when responding to her… She'd never led him on, knowing it would be suicidal to take someone into her bed when the king wanted her all to himself.

Then there was Edrick, who she was drawn to for all the wrong reasons: he looked so much like Letho, even acted so much like him… it was hard to keep the painful clenches away from her heart when she sometimes glanced at him and almost forgot who he was… she liked him a lot and got along famously with him, but she feared it was partly because he was so much like the Witcher she had once cared deeply for.

But she knew very well that she could not consider approaching either of them, even now. She was a general and their squad leader; it would be inappropriate and would send all the wrong messages to every other soldier in the whole army, should she chose to sleep with her own fighters. This frustrated her as she longed for the simple days, all of which seemed to have existed a lifetime ago, when she was alone on the road, free to do as she wished, without a single care other than perhaps finding a new Witcher contract to fill her pouch with gold. Alyra wondered briefly what she would have chosen to do in this situation if she was still as free as she had once been, but she chased to idea from her mind before it formed: it was unfair to torture herself with Ifs and Maybes. Things were as they were and there was no discernable way out of her predicament for the time being.

Finally, she thought of Ge'els… just what had his comment implied? Was he letting on more than she thought, or was she imaging things? The viceroy had never even slightly shown any sort of attraction to her, but he had always been kind and even helpful, considering that he reported to Eredin in the end. Now that he specifically knew that the king had given her free reign, he had made sure she was made of aware of that fact and had extended an invitation…

Alyra sighed into her mask, unable to fix her mind. She had no desire to make a decision, although she knew that now that the viceroy offered her such an offer, its knowledge would fester within her, gnawing at her thoughts until she finally made up her mind.

Around them, the swamp had grown wetter, their horses' hooves squelching on the muddy path they were following. She saw there were all manner of treats hanging from strings in the trees, unmoving in the very still air. The once-colorful wrappings had been tarnished by time and humidity, giving the items a very eerie, sickly aspect that seemed to coincide very well with their surroundings. Alyra found herself glancing around herself nervously, her skin crawling; it felt as though eyes were watching them from every shadow, and menacing murmurs wafted from the unmoving waters. She rode in the centre of the column, behind Nathiel, who followed Imlerith… nonetheless, she felt terribly exposed and let her hands amble down instinctively to the pommels of her swords, tracing her fingers over them as she surveyed the area with a scowl.

She wondered where they were, as she had never seen this place before. The king had ordered them to find allies in her world, but she could not recall ever travelling such a morbid swamp… he'd spoken of sorceresses… had she ever heard tales of sorceresses living in such a terrible place? All Alyra could recall was that most of the women she'd seen deal in magic preferred rich clothes, furs and the comfort of palaces… not the moist stench of such a creepy dwelling.

But she followed in silence, keeping her discomfort to herself, figuring that at least one of them knew where they were going…

It took time and a few stops, during which Nathiel whispered spells to guide them further, but they eventually emerged into a clearing that housed a few wooden shacks, precariously perched amidst the swampy waters. She just barely caught sight of a small girl dashing off behind one of the buildings with a glance over her shoulder, before the child was gone and they descended from their horses in the centre of the place.

Imlerith removed his helm and looked around. It took but a moment for the door to the largest shack to snap open so loudly and suddenly that Alyra stifled a cry. By the way Nathiel jumped, she could tell he was as nervous as she was.

There was a gust of wind through the trees that made the wooden shacks creak threateningly, as angry whispers echoed through the air and Alyra fell into a defensive position instinctively, loosening her swords in her scabbards, her lips drawn up into a snarl as she got ready to fight.

No one else moved, but Nathiel was ghastly pale, looking nervous. She tried to calm down, but her heart was racing as she fought with her fight or flight response.

"Well, well, well…" A voice like a snarl within a well drifted from the open shack, sending very unpleasant shivers down Alyra's back. "The half-blood thinks she can fight us? Is this why she came?"

There was a humorless chuckle as three… three creatures emerged from the structure. Alyra found no better word to describe them: they were hideously frightening, all deformed in some manner and sickeningly disgusting. Thankfully her mask hid at least part of her astounded expression.

Imlerith half-turned to glance at her, his sufficient smirk enough to force her to regain her composure. He obviously found it very amusing that she was this distraught.

"It would be our honor to dance with the half-blood…" The largest of the beasts snickered, her cord-ridden, overweight body jiggling with her saccadic motions. Her face was hidden by a sort of woven basket and Alyra found herself grateful for it.

"But if she mis-steps… if she misses the tune…" The hunchbacked one, carrying a sack full of body parts, her face hidden behind a reddish veil, said in a threatening voice.

"We'll slice and dice and eat her up whole!" The last one, her eyes a breeding ground for some sort of burrowing parasite, howled in that decrepit voice of hers, swishing her claws in the girl's general direction.

Alyra ripped off her mask, exposing her rictus. "You're welcome to try." She snarled, sounding braver than she felt.

The three witches howled with teeth-gritting laughter, until Imlerith raised an impatient hand to silence them.

"As much as I myself would enjoy seeing the girl get what's coming to her for that uncontrolled temper of hers, we're in a hurry."

"Of course, your lordship, how may the Crones serve you?" The three bowed low and made crooning noises.

Imlerith was to the point. "We are searching for someone: someone who has escaped our grasp into another world. We suspect they should manifest themselves soon enough and need you to keep a lookout for such an apparition of magic in this world. Can you do that?"

The big Crone chuckled with delight. "But of course, your lordship, anything for the great general of the Wild Hunt!"

The hunchbacked one crooned as well. "We can even guide this being to us if they try and teleport in this world… once we sense them, if they use magic anew, we can pull them here!"

"That would be ideal. You must contact us as soon as you have someone of the sort, as we need to get them under our control at once."

Alyra noticed how Imlerith pointedly avoided naming this person they were after, or even using her gender. This reminded her about what Gaunter had asked her to do before disappearing, so she slowly inched away from her horse and closer to the Crones, somehow suspecting that it would be best if Imlerith did not hear what she had to say.

"Of course your lordship!" The diseased-eye Crone said in a soft voice. "If your lordship would be so inclined, the Sabbath is in a few moons' turns. It is in your habit to attend… will we be graced by your presence this year as well?"

Imlerith smirked. "As always. I would hate to disappoint the succubi."

Alyra ignored the general mixed sounds of cackling and mumbling that followed, reaching the biggest of the Crones, which finally planted her veiled stare upon her. It was like being look at naked: she could not see the creature's eyes, but she sure could feel them on her… in her… they seemed to be prodding into her very soul, searching…

"A darkness clouds you, child. Every inch of you shall perish to it." The sorceress said in a very low voice. Alyra understood that somehow, the others could not hear them… this was for her alone.

She had nothing to reply to such a comment, but she did have a message to convey. Feeling nothing but revolt and calculated determination, she spoke.

"When you do catch the child of the Elder Blood for us, try and keep her alive. If you can resist the taste of her blood, that is."

The huge Crone visibly stumbled, taken aback by those words. Alyra felt savage pleasure at this sudden weakness, as though seeing it somehow reassured her: these beings were just beings and not supernatural gods… if they could be surprised, they could be killed. There was something comforting in that thought.

She didn't give the sorceress time to respond, turning around gracefully to walk back to her horse, as everyone was getting ready to leave.

It felt as though every piece was in place, even if she would not see the puzzle.

(0)

When they returned, she made her way back to the war camp with only a nod to Nathiel and a cold look at Imlerith. Much to her surprise, workers had already begun building the base to a stone building near the barracks where her soldiers slept, several Aen Elle working elven magic to fashion large rocks into smaller slabs that fit so perfectly together it was as though they were seamless. She approached them and dismounted, unable to hide her wonder. One of the Aen Elle mages approached her.

"My lady." He nodded. "The viceroy has commissioned us to build you a manse here and has drawn up plans for it. Would you wish to see them, perhaps change a few things more to your liking?"

Alyra gaped at him, before taking a moment to clear her throat and gather her bearings. She glanced sideways and saw both Edrick and Ghevir standing nearby, snickering discreetly at her confusion. Their teasing sneers immediately cleared her mind and she turned to the Aen Elle. "Ge'els really hasn't wasted and time, has he? Well, alright… let's see those plans…"

She sent Edrick and Ghevir mockingly furious gestures and the two warriors slunk back, feinting terror, before walking off to resume their drills with the other soldiers. The Aen Elle brought her to a nearby table, which was laden with parchments and scrolls of all sorts, through which he pawed deftly before finding the blueprints for the manse. They poured over them for a long time, as she found she almost had to fight tooth and nail to get any actually changes. It seemed the elves had liked the plans very much and were not keen on changing them… especially since she ardently insisted the whole thing be made smaller. Ge'els had drawn up plans for a manse half the size of the king's palace, which was ludicrously large. She had had in mind something more the size of a small house… it took some negotiating, but she managed to get everyone to agree to build something a big bigger than what she would have wanted, but it seemed to only way to actually tone down the whole building.

"I _don't need_ a garden full of peacocks." She said in an exasperated tone, for what must have been the hundredth time.

The Aen Elle tsked and shrugged. "They were most fitting, especially amidst the cherry blossoms…"

"I don't need those either!"

"And the fountains would have been no trouble…"

"No fountains!"

"Removing the courtyard basically removes the best part of the palace, my lady…"

"No courtyard! Look, I agreed to the rooftop garden; I think that's fair enough. All I need is a place to sleep, a place to relax and a place to train when I want to do it alone. Don't trouble yourselves…"

"It's no trouble, really. We do enjoy building grand things! I mean, if you would reconsider the peacocks…"

" _No peacocks!_ "

This went on for long enough that she began feeling the start of a migraine settling behind her eyes. In the end, she conceded to several extravagant, useless (in her opinion) additions in order to not have a mansion standing at the edge of the war camp. The one room she was kind of glad to get was a library, commissioned with tons of books from various worlds. She was not much of a reader, but fully appreciated the value of knowledge.

Alyra was both exasperated and impressed with Ge'els. It seemed he had as much leverage as the king in the city, and he did have an eye for lovely things. However, she was finding it hard to decide if he'd done all this to tease her, or if he'd done it for other reasons…

She'd been unable to chase his proposal from her mind and found herself thinking about him time and time again during the day. Every time, she was left with a hollow feeling of self-doubt, as she fought with herself, wondering what she should do…

In the end, after the fiasco with the Aen Elle builders was over and the sun was setting over the camp, she decided that the best way to deal with the issue was to have a drink over it. She declined her soldiers' invitation to join them for supper and drinks, preferring rather to change out of her armor and into comfortable, dark clothes, before slipping out a back door form the barracks, unseen.

By that time, night had fallen and she swung by the stables to quickly saddle Segomo, before riding out towards the city, lost in thought, her cloak heavy and her face hidden beneath its fur-rimmed hood. Alyra took her time, wishing to attract no attention. She rode through the calm streets, her horse's iron shod hooves clanking on the cobblestones in rhythmic steps, making her way towards the port.

There was a tavern there she liked to sometimes visit, especially when she wanted to be alone. It was small and musty, partially hidden between two builds, and very few people ever went there unless the ships were being prepared to sail. It stood facing the sea and on calm days she liked to sit outside it and listen to the gentle sound of waves, finding them soothing. Tonight there was just a bit of wind and the waters were mostly still, but she liked the view nonetheless. A nearly full moon illuminated the sea, showing the ships moored in the bay as dark ghosts swaying in the distance. The biggest of them was of course the Naglfar, the king's ship. It stood like a menacing beast in on the horizon, black and deadly and she found herself shivering at the sight of it, glad she'd never seen it sail.

Alyra tied Segomo to a post facing a basin full of water and snuck inside the tiny establishment.

As it was every time she came here, she was forcibly reminded on the tiny, grimy tavern in Southern Velen, where she'd met the mage Ekrayn of Poviss, who had hired her and ultimately led her down the path that trapped her in this world… Alyra tried not to think of that, knowing it would only bring her sorrow. She picked a table off to the back of the dark room, noting that there were only two other patrons here at this time, one of which was passed out in a puddle of beer and drool on a nearby table, the other of which was brooding in a corner, swaying in his seat as he downed glass after glass of blood-red wine.

The tavern keeper, a burly, large woman most probably of human descent, came sundering out from a room behind the counter, making a beeline for Alyra as soon as she lay her narrowed, dark eyes on the seated girl. She looked mean, but Alyra knew the woman could be kind, albeit a bit hard at times.

"What'll it be?" It sounded annoyed, but there was a tiny smile on the woman's pockmarked face and the girl knew she'd recognized her. It was hard not to: she was still somewhat of a star these days.

"The usual, Irma. Thanks."

The large woman winked and waddled off to fetch a clean mug of beer for her customer.

Alyra fell into thought again, scratching absently at the caked dirt on the wooden table. She simply couldn't seem to get Ge'els out of her mind, it seemed… for the first time since she'd arrived in this world, she found herself thinking of the viceroy in a more personal way… before, he'd always been just another being in her existence, neither friend nor foe, certainly not someone she was particularly interested in…

But he was a very handsome being… he didn't have the brutish charm Eredin possessed, but had an altogether different sort of magnetism, the sort that was mysterious and subtle… Alyra remembered his bright, yellow eyes and how they had looked at her with great interest earlier that day. She was reminded of a Witcher's eyes, but with a more… human touch to them.

Her beer arrived and she thanked Irma.

"You fought well, girl." The strong woman said after a split second of hesitation and it took Alyra just a bit longer to understand that she was talking about the battle in the arena. "Showed 'em all it's not just the boys that can kick some ass. Women are a tenfold stronger, when they want to be."

Alyra smiled, raising her glass and Irma winked again, returning to her bar.

It took another big mug of strong lager to help her finally make up her mind, after which she rose to pay for her consumptions and leave. Irma insisted on offering her the beer, saying it was on the house, so Alyra thanked her and left soundlessly. Segomo was dozing and snorted when she came up to him, but did not protests as they rode back out onto the streets.

Everything was calm and quiet.

Everything but her hammering heart.

(0)

I'm going to be a bitch and stop this here because this chapter is long enough! Please review, the more I get, the faster I'll post what Alyra's going to do next!

Take care everyone and please review!


	26. The Swallow

AUTHOR'S NOTE : We have passed the 100 review mark and I am incredibly thankful to all of you who read this story, whether you leave a comment or not. It's a wonderful feeling to see that thousands of people have read this story from all over the world and I can only hope that I'm doing a satisfactory job and giving you something that is worthy of your time and enjoyment. Don't be shy if you want to leave a comment, I appreciate any constructive criticism and enjoy each and every word of encouragement. Thank you all!

Lucy, hope you enjoy what Alyra has chosen to do!

Kateskates, I think he's too busy obsessing with Cirilla, but you never know…

ChollyMax, don't worry I fully plan on finishing this story, even if it might take me a bit of time because I'm a very busy little bee. As for Alyra's Gwent quote… hmmm… "Piss off." It might be just that, hehehe….

(0)

Alyra reached the Palace of Awakening shortly after leaving the tavern. A guard at the doors approached her as she dismounted. She found that as her feet touched the ground, her legs were a bit shaky… she chalked it off on the drinks she'd had and turned to face the guard, lowering her hood so he could see her. The Aen Elle stopped and saluted her stiffly when he recognized her and she gestured to reassure him.

"I know it's late…" She sighed, stealing herself to make the next words come out of her mouth. "Is Ge'els awake?"

The guard nodded. "Follow me, my lady. I believe he is still in his study. He asked you be let in at any time if you showed."

' _Did he, now_?' She mused, following the elf. A stable boy rushed out of the darkness, seemingly appearing out of thin air, to tend to Segomo. She heard her horse whinny tiredly and almost changed her mind, almost told the guard: "You know what? Don't bother him. Never mind, it's not important."… but no such words came out of her mouth and she lowered her head, biting her lip, as she was led through the huge double doors and up the stairs to the upper floors.

They walked through corridors which were lit with the warm, flickering light of chandeliers, but she found herself shivering nonetheless. In the end, the guard stopped in front of a large oak door and knocked twice on it.

"Yes?"

The voice sent shivers down her spine… it was not an unpleasant sensation.

The guard opened the door and nodded her through. Alyra tried to swallow the nervous lump that had settled in her throat as she stepped into the dimly lit room and the door closed behind her in a manner that sounded like the sealing of her fate. She glanced back at it, a fleeting desire to rip it open and run away crossing her mind.

"Ah. Alyrethielle." Ge'els rose from the armchair he'd been comfortably seated in, facing a dying fire in an enormous fireplace, setting aside the leather-bound tome he'd been reading. "I hoped you'd come."

"You seem busy." She chanced, fighting the urge to take a step back. "I can come back… I shouldn't have…"

"Nonsense. Please, take a seat."

He gestured to the armchair next to his and she sighed, conceding defeat. She walked to it, noticing the tall bookcases that lined every wall, filled with thick and thin tomes, rolled scrolls and loose leaves of parchment. There was a desk in the room as well, but it seemed unused, as though Ge'els preferred to read in front of the fireplace instead. There were big windows that let in a bit of faint light from the city, but the room was mostly dim, illuminated only by a handful of candles on the low table between the armchairs, and the fire in the hearth. The flickering light gave them both enigmatic airs, but somehow the darkness was comforting to her… Alyra sat in the armchair and glanced at the Aen Elle, who was gazing at her curiously, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips.

She found she had no idea where to start.

"I did not expect you would come so… soon." Ge'els said softly, breaking the silence. She shrugged, biting at her lip a bit.

"You invited me."

"Well, you are a fascinating being."

She stared at him. "Is that… Is that the only reason I'm here?"

"That's for you to tell me, little bird." Ge'els definitely had a teasing smile on his lips now, as he shifted in his seat and watched her. "Do you think there's a reason you're here?"

Alyra decided she'd had enough of this game. It was making her uneasy and she hated feeling uneasy. If snapping and snarling was the way she controlled her environment, then snap and snarl she would.

"The way you worded it, _viceroy,_ was that if I found myself lacking for someone to warm my bed, I should find you. As it has, I'm curious: does that mean that just because I'm no longer the king's plaything, I must become yours?"

Instead of looking angry, Ge'els just looked more amused and she wondered if that should infuriate her, or deflate her. He leaned a bit close to her.

"Don't lie to yourself, little bird. You and I both know you understood the meaning of what I said to you this morning… and at no time did you think you were forced to do anything at all." The intensity of his gaze was making her heart thump too loudly for her liking. "Which can only mean one thing: you came here willingly, knowing full well _why_ you were coming here."

Those words left them both in silence. It was a heavy sort of silence, the sort that made one think that the very beating of their heart could be heard in the still air… the type that ate at your skin as it pressed against it, begging to be broken… the type of silence that led to something irreversible once it was broken…

Alyra opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. There were a thousand things she wanted to say, but just the thought of most of them made her feel ridiculous… all the thoughts she'd had all day long… about Eredin, Ghevir, Edrick… about Ge'els… the thousand unsaid things, the things that frightened her, the things that made her doubt herself, her choices, the life she now led… there were no words to express the chaos she was swimming in.

Somehow, Ge'els guessed it. Perhaps he'd known all along. Perhaps he'd seen the storm and had decided to approach her to calm it, if only for just a night. Perhaps she was just imagining things…

He rose and extended a hand to her. Alyra barely hesitated as she took it and rose to meet him. He stood nearly a foot and a half taller than her, towering over her and for the first time in a long time, she felt tiny. He was watching her with those yellow eyes, his expression unreadable. She did not flee his gaze, supporting it and letting it wander over her face, her neck, down her body…

His hand rose and brushed a loose strand of dark hair from the side of her face, his fingers pressing ever so gently into her skin… Ge'els continued his motion, his hand tracing her cheekbone, down her jaw, just barely touching her throat. Alyra half-closed her eyes and sighed as the gentle touch sent shivers down her body; shivers which seemed to find home in her lower belly, starting a smoldering fire there. His fingers were soft, unmarred and without the callouses that came with wielding a blade. She did not think she'd ever been with someone who had such a gentle, caressing touch. At any rate, not that she could immediately remember…

She opened her eyes and gazed into his again. His hand found the back of her head, fingers lacing into her hair so discreetly they did not pull a single strand, as he pulled her in with a delicate, yet unyielding motion towards him. Their lips met and hunger awoke within her. There was something maddening in the overall tenderness of this whole situation and desire devoured her. Her hands found his arms and grabbed at the richly embroiled cloth, her nails almost ripping into the fabric.

His kiss became harder, more intense, and his other hand found her lower back, pulling her close, against the swelling bulge in his pants. She half-moaned, half-growled deep in her throat, as his hands snuck back up to her collar, undoing her shirt deftly. She tried to so the same, but found that his silken clothes were complex and buttoned in places she could not see, so she was unable to get anything done… Ge'els noticed this, pulled away with an amused smile and removed the court shirt so fast she found she still had no idea where to unbutton it.

Alyra pulled him back at once and their lips met anew. One of his hands grasped gently at her hair while the other removed her shirt, finding her breasts, which he caressed both delicately and teasingly. His touch was going to drive her mad… she started undoing his pants, finding that at least those she could manage. He did the same, pulling away from their tight embrace, before she managed to completely undo his dress pants. Alyra grumbled slightly, but watched him curiously as the tall Aen Elle knelt slowly in front of her, snaking gentle kisses down her body as he went. When his lips just barely brushed her lower belly, she actually gasped, her hands finding his silver hair as she fought with herself to not grasp it too roughly. He pulled her dark trousers down and she stepped out of them, her legs shaking just a little. Ge'els laid gentle kisses on her hip-bones and she clenched her teeth, holding back a deep moan as his hand teasingly brushed between her legs, just barely touching her wet womanhood.

He glanced up and she locked her gaze with his, finding it was full of the same hard lust as hers. The Aen Elle rose slowly, his pants half-open over his hips, and slipped his hands behind her thighs, lifting her up so easily it was as though she weighted nothing to him… Alyra wrapped her legs around his hips and their lips met anew with an angry frenzy…

Ge'els carried her over to his desk. She found herself wondering if this what it was usually used for, if it wasn't used for reading. The thought made her smile, but it was erased from her mind as he laid her down on the cool wooden surface gently, before lowering his trousers and exposing his rigid, throbbing member. She grasped at it hungrily and led it to her womanhood, noting its impressive girth and trying at once to relax, knowing it would hurt going in.

The Aen Elle did not take her roughly, like the king had. He placed a large hand beneath her hips to guide her and lowered himself over her, placing all his weight on his other arm. Their proximity was reassuring and she found she enjoyed the intimacy it created. He entered her gently, slowly, and she moved with his hips, moaning softly with every motion. It was not long before she got used to him within her and she urged him to move faster as her pleasure peaked slowly.

The Aen Elle thrust into her more roughly, growling into her ear and she wrapped her legs tight around him, pulling back her head to howl as she climaxed. Wave after wave of harsh pleasure washed over her, completely spending her. Sometime within that stormy haze of ecstasy, she felt his hand sneak into her hair to grasp it gently as he pulled her close and spilled his seed into her with a long groan.

They remained like that, panting slightly, for what seemed like an eternity.

Alyra found she had no idea what to think of anything that had just happened. She did not know if it was right, if it was wrong or what sort of consequences might come of it… she found she did not care. She found she did not want to care.

"That was… surprizing." She said at long last and Ge'els pulled away from her with an amused smile.

"Not too disappointing, I hope?" He pulled out of her and laced up his breeches, before helping her sit up on the desk and fetching her clothes for her. She felt the Aen Elle's warm seed run down her thigh and stain the desk beneath her and she had a fleeting thought for whoever had to clean this place…

"Quite acceptable." She smiled coyly. He returned the smile and handed her her things. Before she could start dressing, however, Ge'els moved closer to her and ran gentle, soft fingers from her throat down to her collar bone. He traced over the long scar that started at her cheek and crawled down to her shoulder. She found it sent pleasant shivers up and down her spine and she bit her lip pensively, watching him. He seemed lost in thought.

"You'd make quite a lovely model to paint, Alyrethielle."

She couldn't hold back the amused scoff that escaped her lips. "Not likely." She jumped down from the desk with her clothes in hand and stood on her tip toes, just barely brushing her lips over his. Then, she winked and got dressed as he looked at her curiously.

"Good night." She said over her shoulder as she headed for the door.

"You won't stay?"

She glanced back at him with an amused smirk. "Let's not give the city more gossip than it needs, shall we?"

Ge'els nodded. "So be it. I'll call on you tomorrow; I expect there will be another meeting with the king."

She left without another word, finding her own way out of the palace. Saddling and mounting Segomo, she rode off into the night, somewhat content, keeping the anxiety of what she had done at bay, hoping it wouldn't have catastrophic consequences…

(0)

As Ge'els had said, the king called another meeting on the following day. He acted around her as he had on previous days, which was with a cold, unconcerned demeanor and Ge'els treated her no differently than before, so she went with it.

She was tasked with equipping her whole squadron with amulets provided by Caranthir, which were magically charmed to armor them when activated and teleport them to the Navigator so that they might mobilize after Zireael at the first sign of her. Alyra had her own amulet and it would also armor Segomo, bringing her to him before teleporting both of them to Caranthir. She was told to select four fighters in case they didn't need to mobilize many units, so she chose to bring Ghevir and three others, leaving Edrick in charge. The amulets would glow when they were being summoned, so she kept hers with her.

Days passed and there was a notable change in the war camp and in the city: there seemed to be some sort of electricity in the air, as everyone spoke of the return of the Child of the Elder Blood and what it would mean for the Aen Elle lineage. The warriors were restless, itching to go to war with pretty much any foe and the general population seemed eager for some sort of action… Alyra was glad of this: the shift in attention meant no one seemed to care that she'd visited Ge'els and no one noticed that she had returned to the Palace of Awakening at least twice more, in the dead of night.

When the fabled moment finally came, she was almost caught off guard.

Alyra was practicing agility on a track she'd had built for her squadron, full of beams and poles and seesaws they had to navigate at various speeds while being distracted in a manner of ways by one another. She was demonstrating what sheer practice could do as she slipped across a beam gracefully, her eyes blindfolded and her feet sure, dodging the tiny bags of sand she'd instructed her warriors to throw her way, when she felt her amulet grow hot against her skin.

Her foot slipped and she almost fell, managing to regain her balance at the last possible moment, ripping off her blindfold as her soldiers all grasped their amulets, glancing at her with apprehensive faces.

 _Small group._ A voice seemed to seep from the metal disc around her neck. She recognized Eredin's tone.

Alyra glanced up. "Ghevir, Gabrel, Maeven, Brax. Armor up and go. Edrick, you have the command till I return."

She flipped off the beam and landed like a feather on the ground, pressing the button at the centre of the amulet. A pleasant warmth enveloped her and when it faded, she was standing in front of a saddled and armored Segomo in the middle of the field in which he'd been grazing. Alyra glanced down at herself and noted that she was wearing her Hunt armor as well, her blades at her hips and her full quiver on her back. She clambered onto the slightly confused horse and they both vanished, reappearing with her four fighters next to an armored Eredin, Caranthir and Imlerith. She saw that the Navigator was carrying some sort of small box along with his usual staff.

"My king?" She asked, feeling the thunderous apprehension in the air. It was like lightning.

"A powerful wave of magic has crossed the fabric of the worlds. Zireael is on the move and we are going to intercept her in her world."

Before she even knew what was going on, Caranthir slammed his staff onto the ground from his horse and a portal appeared in front of them, growling and swirling with energy. They rode through at a fast pace.

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They emerged into a stormy place. The wind was howling and there were dark, heavy clouds overhead. Alyra smelled salt and water… she looked around herself at the splintered, withering trees of the marshlands and tried to figure out where they had landed. Could this be… could it be Ard Skellig? She was sure she could smell the sea and there was almost no mistaking those tall, jagged mountains that surrounded them. If it wasn't Ard Skellig, it had to be one of the lesser isles: there were not many places in her world that housed such harsh sights and stony grounds.

Lightning cracked overhead and Segomo whinnied worriedly.

Before she had the slightest chance to speak, there was another sounds just like the clap of thunder… only it was not thunder. Bright light filled her line of sight as powerful, blue energy materialized just yards away from them, bringing two silhouettes into the bleary world.

"AT THEM!" Eredin howled in that freezing, indisputable voice of his and she saw Imlerith launch himself forward on his huge war horse. The dust had settled and she saw one of the silhouettes, a tall male, throw out his hands, screaming something. A spell left his fingers and hit the general like a wall, sending him crashing to the side.

Alyra kicked her horse into motion and felt her four warriors do the same, all of them on foot, on either side of her. Caranthir followed them with just a split second of delay.

She saw the fleeing figures with clarity now: one was an Aen Elle and the other… the other was clearly Zireael, child of the Elder Blood… Alyra didn't know what she had been expecting, but it somehow wasn't this. The young woman they flew after had ashen, nearly white hair and eyes so green they shone like emeralds in the dull scenery. There was a lengthy scar over one of her eyes and a fierce fury seemed to emanate from every step she took. Their gazes crossed and for a moment, Alyra was nearly stopped by the sheer determination that shone at her from the girl's stare.

Then, the Aen Elle that was with her cast another spell over his shoulder, hitting Segomo square in the chest. The horse went sprawling, screaming, and Alyra was ejected from the saddle, rolling over herself several times to soften her fall. Before she could get up, strong arms seized her and helped her stand; she looked up to recognize Ghevir as he steadied her, before nodding at her and setting off anew. She glanced back at Segomo, saw that he was slowly getting, neighing angrily and decided to chase after the girl on foot. Caranthir flew past them like a storm, Eredin hot on his heels.

There was a bright flash of light ahead and she heard screams. She ran by a fallen tree that had pinned and killed a warrior of the Hunt, barely registering that it wasn't one of the four she'd brought with her: it was one of the king's. She managed to catch up to the fight a moment later and saw Cirilla flashing like a bolt of lightning all over the place, swinging a long Witcher's sword with dexterity at her opponents, cutting them down with ease. When she faced Brax, the Witcher-trained warrior held his own, forcing the girl to retreat as the Aen Elle with her cast another spell, keeping Eredin and Caranthir at bay.

Suddenly, the Navigator vanished from his seat on his horse and appeared behind Cirilla.

Alyra was sure he'd manage to cast a spell and bind her, and as he drew that strange box from his side she understood that _that_ was a phylactery… he opened the box and the young ashen girl found she did not have the time to dodge away from the sealed spell…

The Aen Elle travelling with her appeared in front of her and took the entirety of the magical blast…

Cirilla yanked him back and slashed at Caranthir with a savage fury that impressed even Eredin, who was trying to bring his slightly agitated steed around to grab the girl. Alyra didn't even have the time to move that the girl slashed at Caranthir again, forcing him to drop the phylactery, which she promptly picked up.

The Aen Elle seemed to recover from the curse and Alyra saw him mumble words to a spell. Realizing what was about to happen, she tried to cry out and warn Gabrel and Brax, both of which were closing in on Cirilla, but before she would utter a single word, the world around them went up in a colossal explosion.

Alyra went flying back, slamming into someone on her way, tumbling off into the moist ground like a rag doll. Her ears were ringing and her body was a mass of agony as she found herself lying face down in a muddy puddle with little recollection of how she had gotten there. Someone grasped her and turned her around and she had to blink the brightness away, slowly regaining focus as she Ghevir's bloodied face came into view, hovering above her.

"… alright? Brax… not doing so… and Gabrel is… only Maeven and… can you hear…"

She pushed him aside and sat up with a grimace, before accepting his help to stand on her wavering feet as the ringing in her ears slowly subsided and she was finally able to make out Ghevir's words.

Around them, the marshy forest had been leveled, with ground zero being the point where Cirilla and her elven friend had stood. Neither could be seen, so Alyra assumed they had successfully fled… that, or they had both been vaporized. There were corpses on the ground around where the blast had originated and it was with a sickening pang to the gut that she recognized one of them as Gabrel, his woven mask torn off by the explosion, his face covered in dark blood as his eyes glazed over in death.

Brax lay nearby, unconscious, with Maeven tending to him as best he could, looking relatively unhurt. Eredin, Caranthir and Imlerith, as well as what remained of their own fighters, stood nearby, looking shook but not mortally wounded. The king seemed to be oscillating between a feeling of fury and amazement and Alyra found she did not like the eerie look that seemed to be shining in his eyes like the glint of obsession.

Segomo trotted out of the trees towards them and at last she sighed, confronted with a least a small measure of good news. She helped Ghevir and Maeven load a barely conscious Brax onto the stallion.

Defeated, they found they had no choice but to fall back to their world and keep on looking for the elusive Child of the Elder Blood, cringing at the fact that she had so easily slipped through their grasp.

Alyra found herself wondering why Gaunter had insisted on proposing the phylactery if it had obviously done nothing to the girl or her elven friend and found that perhaps it was best she not question the mysterious workings of the mirror demon…

She had a fleeting impression that things had just barely begun to fall into place.

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Review my friends! I love your encouragement and comments! I don't want this or the next few chapters to feel rushed, but there are events I want to pass over faster in order to reach others, which will be much more thrilling. So bear with me!


	27. The shores of Hindarsfjall

Chollymax, thank you!

Imajunmyshack, welcome to the story! Hope it stays fun even if we kinda know what's going to happen!

Nis'erra, welcome amidst us! I'm so glad you enjoy the story and I promise I'm finishing it, even if it takes a bit of time. I'm really glad my OC doesn't fall into that whole damsel in distress trap, because that's what often disappoints me in the otherwise great stories I find on this site. It's also the main reason I wrote this one, because I wanted to have this type of character out there! And this site is my practice zone for potential books I write, so I'm glad to read that you consider it a well built and grammatically correct story, because English is my second language and I speak 3, so it can get a bit messy.

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A few days passed in relative calmness. Alyra nursed a contused back and wounded shoulder, spending time in the elven baths to relax and let her body heal from the damage caused by the explosion on Skellige. Ghevir came with her often and they both sat in silence, breathing deeply in the steamy air, lost in thought. Neither said it, but they both knew they were thinking the same thing: seeing Cirilla had somewhat perturbed them. There was something about the girl… a sort of wild, furious energy that seemed to have branded them all, leaving them with a sense of mixed dread and confusion. Alyra found herself thinking for the thousandth time about this odd being out of Space and Time and about how much the king wanted her captured… almost as though he couldn't fathom that the real being of power was the girl herself, and not the lineage she carried.

Brax was taken care of by the healers, his wounds quite serious, but Alyra had been assured he would make a full recovery. Gabrel had not been so lucky… the mage's powers had killed him where he stood and all they could do was bring back his body and give him a sending-off she hoped was adequate. Another of her fighters, who had been close to Gabrel as they both came from the same world, had told her it was customary to burn their dead. She'd done just that on the very day of their return, setting up a pyre by the forest beyond the war camp with the help of her warriors, all just to give Gabrel a final farewell.

He was the first fighter she lost and Alyra found that she felt a profound sense of misery: his death had scooped out a piece of her, it seemed. She hadn't realized how close they'd all grown, how attached she had become to them all.

About two days after their return, Imlerith was called back hastily to her world, and traveled there with the help of Nathiel. When he returned he was beside himself with rage and went on a violent spree that ended with two guards dead and a few courtesans severely beaten. It was Nathiel who told her this, recounting the events in a whisper over a mug of beer at her favorite dockside tavern. He shuddered at the memory of the furious general and explained that his wrath came from the Crones, which had kept the girl secret for a time in their swamp, taking too long to contact Imlerith: Cirilla had recovered slightly and had fled, albeit still wounded, barely escaping the Hunt.

At those words, Alyra began to see the pieces of the puzzle fit into place: how her comment about the Elder Blood to the Crones had probably somehow played a part in Cirilla's escape from them and, subsequently, had allowed the girl to escape the Hunt. She was beginning to understand that Gaunter O'Dimm might have been able to see far off into the possible events that would occur and had chosen to interfere most discreetly to help guide the young girl. What had he said to her when they'd spoken about the subject? That if Cirilla were to fall to the Hunt, the world would end, as Ithilinne had predicted?

Alyra could only hope that the Mirror demon knew what he was doing, and that it would keep the worlds safe.

But where was Cirilla now? Eredin had mobilized scouts and mages to find her, but so long as the girl did not use her powers, she was nigh impossible to find. Alyra found herself hoping that Ciri was as smart as she was powerful and that she would keep a low profile until she could find the ones that could protect her from the Hunt. For now, it was impossible to tell where the girl was, as she had vanished into the wilderness of Velen, swallowed by the miles upon miles of uninhabited land.

So they waited, tension growing every day. There were brawls amongst the soldiers. There were thefts and arguments amongst the citizens. Everyone was on high alert, the pressure pressing down onto Tir nà Lia like a thunderstorm.

Alyra healed from her wounds and resumed training, strengthening her body and focusing her mind, continuing her drills with her squadron, which was a man short now.

It was about two weeks before they had a new lead.

There was a flash of magical energy through the fabric of the worlds and Imlerith mobilized at once with Caranthir and a platoon of soldiers. Alyra wasn't called this time, but Nathiel came to find her as soon as the general left to inform her that they were one the move and promised to keep her updated.

Later that day, the Hunt returned empty-handed, which sent Eredin into an unfathomable rage. Alyra was more than glad that he hadn't called on her in the past few weeks: she knew that if she had still been his concubine, she would have suffered the extent of that fury…

But just to be on the safe side, she bunkered down with Ge'els under the excuse that she wanted to dine with him, before leaving early in the evening to head to the docks and to her favorite tavern, where Nathiel was waiting in a far, shadowed corner.

"So?" She asked as she sat in front of him, eager for news.

Nathiel looked at her worriedly, always anxious to think that he was somehow betraying the Hunt. It had taken Alyra much persuasion (to herself as much as to him) that they weren't doing anything contrary to the Hunt's best intentions: this was more or less harmless gossip, as she kept the information to herself either way.

"Well…" The mage fell silent as Irma brought them mugs of beer with her customary grunt and half-smile. He waited for her to leave before continuing. "Cirilla did indeed use her powers, which was how Caranthir managed to track her down. Apparently, she was fighting a basilisk in Velen! Can you believe it? Why would she be fighting a basilisk?"

Alyra shrugged and smirked. "She's a Witcher, isn't she? That's what Witchers do." She did curse the girl's lack of judgment, but figured there was probably a good reason she'd had to resort to using her powers, knowing full well the Hunt would find her.

"Regardless… so, she used her powers and it took a few hours, but Imlerith descended on her position like lightning. He and half an army of his soldiers. Thing is, they trampled off in so many different directions on their warhorses that all they actually managed to do was completely blur Cirilla's trail, effectively losing her. By the time they realized they were going the wrong way, she was long gone…"

"Bet Eredin loved that…"

Nathiel scoffed. "Gods, was he pissed… the way I understand it though, is he wants you to go next time instead, considering he doesn't want her trampled… he wants her found."

"Bet Imlerith loved that…"

Nathiel hid a snort into his mug of beer and chocked a bit on his gulp.

The next day, as expected, she was summoned by the king. She found him alone and distracted in his large conference room, but at least he was calm. He confirmed with her what Nathiel had already told her: that she would be going after Cirilla next time she was spotted, specifically to locate her and that Imlerith would only be given leave to attack once the girl's location was stable and known.

"Your talents do include tracking all manner of creatures, do they not?" He questioned, watching her intently.

She bowed her head. "They do, my king. As they do for all Witchers."

He nodded gravely. "Good. Then you'll be going with Caranthir alone (the thought made her shiver) next time Zireael manifests herself, but he will stand back and let you track her in your own time, interfering only if he himself senses her anew. Understood?"

She accepted the order with a curt nod.

"Do not fail me."

Alyra nodded anew and left with a bow, not before noticing the laden look that Eredin sent her way. In it, she read a renewed desire, but also an unhealthy curiosity, and she understood he had probably found the time to start wondering about how she occupied her spare time… it meant nothing good for her…not to mention that there was a barely veiled warning in the way he'd spoken to her.

Two and a half weeks passed without event. Alyra was constantly on edge, carrying the magic amulet she'd been given by Caranthir at all times in case she was summoned. She tried to distract herself by finding new ways to train her squadron and by starting their practice with horseback fighting, but even though those moments erased the tension growing within her, the instant she stopped, it all came back. She stopped eating and dropped a couple pounds, finding herself losing energy at the same time. Edrick was quick to notice this and pulled her away from training for a day to just go out into the fields and ride. She was grateful for this: they chatted lengthily about what they remembered from their worlds, the good things and the bad and it allowed her to make a point on the stress that had been eating at her. She was starting to see Edrick more as himself and less as Letho and that made her a bit sad, but she understood that she had also gained a unique, valuable friend and ally that was just like the Witcher she'd loved, and yet so unlike him. She felt more grounded in reality after that day and found she could sleep better and that her appetite returned to normal, the twist in her belly gone.

It returned, however, on the evening her amulet glowed against her skin, signaling Caranthir's call. Alyra had been dining with her soldiers in the large, loud hall at the camp grounds. She grasped the amulet in her hand tightly as it warmed and glowed against her neck, glancing sideways as Edrick and Ghevir. Both noticed her sudden change of posture and as they glanced at the amulet, they understood what was happening.

With no more than a nod, she transferred command to Edrick and rose soundlessly to leave the hall. Barely anyone noticed her go. Once she stepped outside, she pressed down on the gem at the centre of the amulet, activating it. She disappeared from in front of the hall and re-appeared in a stall inside the stables, facing Segomo. She had to fold her fingers into Axii almost at once, as the startled stallion awoke and began standing on hind legs, baring his teeth at this being he was unable to identify in the dark.

"Shhhhh…" She whispered as she stroked his powerful neck, calming her with the sign and with her touch, feeling the magic around him glow as he was armored, just as she had been during her passage from the hall to the stables. As soon as Segomo was saddled, she clambered onto his back, careful not to bang her head on the low ceiling, and they both vanished, called to Caranthir.

She materialized next to the mage in front of the king's stables. Caranthir was mounting up, fully armored and bearing his staff. He glanced at her, nodded and slammed the butt of his frost staff against the ground, conjuring up a portal. Not for the first time, she was stricken with how easy the gesture was to him: she knew it was magically costly to cast something like a portal and it was much more so when the portal spanned two different worlds… to see him do this over and over again was humbling, to say the least.

They passed through the swirling mass of energy and Alyra experienced the unpleasant and familiar sense of her stomach being flipped upside-down. When they emerged, she was hit with the salty smell and taste of the sea, the distant cry of gulls and the rough sight of the mountains of the Skellige isles. The wind was blowing hard, howling against her ears, but when Caranthir spoke in his soft, growling voice, she found she had no trouble hearing him.

"Zireael has used her powers very shortly ago to travel from the city known as Novigrad to this island. I can sense she has appeared nearby, but I can feel her no more. Find her."

Alyra slipped from Segomo and landed on sure feet, looking around herself. They had appeared on a twisting earthen road that lead up into the mountains and down to the sea. No particular landmark gave her any indication of which island they might be on, and the sun was slowly setting. She glanced at the mage.

"Which of the isles of Skellige is this?"

"The one to the east of Ard Skellig. Hindarsfjall."

Alyra pondered this. She'd visited Ard Skellig and Faroe in the past, but had never been to Hindarsfjall, even though she roughly knew the lay of the land. If she remembered correctly, there were a few villages on the island, but she wasn't sure where they were in relation to them…

She walked down towards the sea at a rapid pace, checking the road as she went for traces of the girl, Caranthir following her on horseback, with Segomo shadowing them docilely. She saw nothing on the ground but old hoof prints and even older traces of cart wheels, with a few big prints that most probably belonged to men. Alyra passed a bend in the road that finally allowed her to glance the vast expanse of the calm sea. It was rare to see the waters so still anywhere on the Skellige isles, so she enjoyed the view for a split moment before making an assessment.

By the setting sun, which was falling far off the very distant peaks of mountains from another island, beyond a large stretch of water, she guessed they were on the westernmost point of Hindarsfjall. It didn't help her much: they were in a particularly wild part of the island, where there was mostly nothing but shrubbery, crabs and gulls… if Cirilla had fallen here, unless she had gone along the road or someone had helped her, she was either still here, camping for the night, or had headed to one of the villages. Lofoten was closest, but Alyra felt she preferred to scout the wilderness for clues before bringing down the Hunt on an innocent settlement.

With Caranthir watching her carefully, she slipped amidst the bushes and used her sharp gaze to search for anything out of the ordinary.

She searched for an hour, descending the road towards the sea, but found almost nothing, save the footprints of a particularly heavy man, which were heading off along the road. She traced her steps back and realized those prints emerged from the grass at some point and led down towards the waters. She gestured for Caranthir to remain on the path so he wouldn't trample the trail on his horse and Alyra snuck down deftly towards the sea, squinting in the growing darkness.

It was not long before she realised it was useless to search for anything in the night. So, she returned to Caranthir and proposed they make camp off the road and wait for dawn. She had expected him to protest or insist she continue, but the mage simply nodded and waited for her to indicate where they should go.

This surprised her, but as she thought about it, she came to a conclusion: she had most probably impressed him enough that she had gained his respect over the past year. Alyra didn't know how to feel about that thought, as it did not even slightly erased the memory of the pain and humiliation he had caused her when he had tortured her. So it was not without reason that she had trouble falling asleep after removing part of her armor and settling beneath an outcrop of stone a little way into the forest, Caranthir just feet away from her. He seemed lost in thought, meditating as he looked up at the moon, his staff laid over his crossed legs and his helm at his side. The sight of him was both peaceful and unnerving. Needless to say Alyra got very little sleep that night.

The first rays of dawn shone onto her eyes and pulled her from an uneasy dream. Alyra blinked the sleep from her eyes and glanced at once at Caranthir, wondering if he was up as well. The elven mage was sitting stock-still, in the same posture as when she'd fallen asleep, his eyes closed and his breath soft. Alyra was stunned by the peace that seemed to be radiating from this immensely cruel being and she found herself gazing at his long, sleek and dark hair, at the smoothness of his pale skin, at the painfully beautiful details of his near-perfect features… she had never before appreciated just how handsome Caranthir was, but then again, she tended to try and avoid looking at him, still remembering the night of sheer horror he had made her go through. That memory seemed to tarnish his beauty somewhat and Alyra rose, stretching slowly to chase away the cricks in her back from a night of sleeping on the hard ground, looking on the lovely rising sun of her world.

Caranthir woke as she moved, opening his eyes slowly to gaze at her as she rose and left and he followed her soundlessly, grabbing his helm and staff. They walked to the horses, which were tearing at the sparse grass nearby, their saddles and bags still on, but loosened as to not cause discomfort. Alyra rummaged in Segomo's packs, finding a pack of dried fruit there, which she wolfed down without saying a word to the mage, who was doing the same nearby.

"No use dawdling." She mumbled when they were done, feeling for the first time apprehensive and awkward around Caranthir. She was torn between a feeling of hatred for the mage, and one of conceded defeat, as she found herself slowly accepting this life of hers with the Hunt.

As they returned to the road on which they had appeared the previous day, Alyra even realised that that aching feeling of missing her home world seemed to have dimmed within her… here she was, standing on the islands of Skellige, which were part of the world she had once so craved to return to, and she felt… nothing…

She forced herself to think of her mother, who was out there somewhere, in this dimension, probably scared and alone and cursed… the thought brought bitter fury back, but Alyra realised that it had dimmed as well… there was an exhaustion about her: a sort of defeat, as she found herself slowly accepting that maybe… _just maybe_ , she would never be free of the Hunt.

But then, she remembered Gaunter and his promise. He'd sworn she would be rid of the king and his generals… _he'd assured her_ she would return home.

That awoke a small spark of hope, one which she grasped and held on to dearly, afraid to see it die out again.

She followed the footprints from the day before, those which she thought had belonged to a heavy male, and gazed at them anew under the bright light of day. Alyra saw what she had clearly missed the night before: they did not belong to a heavy male. They indeed belonged to a male, but to one who had carried something heavy. There was an uneven splay to them, as the person seemed to struggle with every step, the soles of their feet slipping in the mud as the weight of what they carried offset them. She frowned at this and followed the tracks down to sea, noting that there had been two sets of male prints up until a few yards before the road, and that the other was set light and precise and vanished into thin air.

'The mage that was with Zireael? Did he teleport?' She wondered, gazing around the sparse foliage.

Something of bright color caught her eye and she moved deftly towards a leafy bush, gently grasping at its branches to stop the leaves from shaking in the wind. Alyra moved her face close and spied a few bright drops of drying blood on the greenery. She carefully tore the affected leaves from the branch and marched back to the road, where Caranthir awaited her.

She handed him the leaves and he took them gently in his armored hands, whispering a spell as he did so. The droplets of blood seemed to shiver, before starting to glow a bright green-blue color, fading into shimmering, silver light. Alyra gazed at this with unveiled wonder, glancing up at the mage's face as the spell seemed to ebb away.

"Elder Blood. No doubt about it." He looked at her, his eyes of ice boring deep into hers. "You do live up to your reputation, Alyrethielle."

She hid the surprise that tried to paint itself on her face and simply nodded in return.

Caranthir touched his frost staff, activating its magic, as he pulled on his mask.

"Ride ahead and follow the trail you've found. Find a vantage point to Zireael and wait for us there."

She nodded again, wordless, and clambered onto Segomo, trotting off steadily after the uneven male footprints she had found. They followed the road for a time, before the man clearly loaded whatever he had been carrying onto a horse, which he led onward. She was able to follow the traces without issue, as they were fresh and few people seemed to have taken the road since.

It wasn't long before she reached a bend in the road, beyond which she could hear voices and the unmistakable noise of a village. Alyra highly suspected this was Lofoten, and even though she was bound by a curse to serve the Hunt and do as they asked, she could not help but utter a quick prayer to the gods, wishing that as few people as possible be harmed during this storming.

Somehow, she knew it would not be the case.

Alyra closed her heart to sadness as, around her, snowflakes began to fall, heralding the arrival of the Red Riders. Behind her, she heard the thundering of hooves, the snarling of hounds, the doomed sounding of a battle horn…

Before her, she heard the screams of women in the village, the shouts of men rushing to arm themselves before the riders could be upon them…

The Wild Hunt rushed past her like a harrowing wave of death and she let them pass, joining the end of the melee, just beside Caranthir and Imlerith. They were forced to slow to a crawl as they reached the village, the slope leading up to it and the fences surrounding it forcing the riders to dismount and charge on foot. Caranthir slammed his staff into the ground and a few of the warriors vanished into light, appearing in the centre of the village, taking the panicked people there off guard.

In the distance, Alyra saw a flash of green magic and the ashen blond hair of… Cirilla…

The young Witcher found like an angry wolf, moving so fast she was a blur, swinging her huge double sword with the dexterity of one who had fought with it for years, acting as though it weighted nothing. She used her powers to teleport around the Wild Hunt warriors, slipping through their ranks, cutting into the unarmoured parts of their back, taking the hounds by surprise as she dodged the ice they created with their roars…

The young woman moved like lightning and Alyra found herself mesmerized by her motion, seeing the very training she herself had endured, the same pivots and pirouettes she herself used… only… only the Cirilla was about to do them better and fast and more gracefully… so that was what a true, Witcher-trained child could accomplish, even without the mutations… she was comparable to any Witcher, much more so than Alyra could ever hope to…

But even with her incredible ability, the ashen-haired fighter found herself quickly outnumbered, and Alyra saw her stumbling as she grasped at her midside, clearly suffering a wound. By this point, the whole of the Hunt had crept into the village. Left, right and center, Alyra saw men being butchered by the warriors and torn apart by hounds and she herself drew her blades, not without a vice grip tightening around her heart as she was forced to do something that abhorred her, simply because the person she cared most about had been cursed.

She was about to dismount and join the fray, if only to incapacitate the villagers so that they might survive the Hunt, when she saw Cirilla rush off into the stables, exiting just moments later on the back of a jet-black mare, following a young man on horseback.

They pushed through the fight, ignoring the battle and rushed out of the village.

Alyra was in the best position to follow them, so she spurred Segomo and rushed after the pair, Caranthir hot on her trail, as Imlerith tried to gather a handful of soldiers to follow them as well. They flew like the wind out of the small settlement, their horses breathing frost in the freezing air, their hooves crunching on the iced road.

Caranthir conjured hounds ahead, hoping to slow down the fleeing pair, but they had a good head start and rode as if death itself was following… which was not entirely untrue.

An armored fighter flew past Alyra, spurred onward by magic. They raced through the rising mountain passage, her heart pounding as she anticipated what was going to happen next.

They descended towards a small beach, but saw the backside of two horses vanish around a bend in the road just ahead, so they spurred their mounts anew and flew after their prey. As soon as the road straightened, Alyra saw that Cirilla was no longer on one of the horses… in truth, the young man she had been fleeing with was pulling a riderless beast along, glancing back worriedly at them. She understood that they had been tricked yet again.

Then, the young man glanced sideways and violently pulled at his horse's stopping it dead in its tracks, dismounting before it had completely halted and rushing off down towards the sea. The Hunt warrior that had passed her dashed after the young man, catching up to him on the beach and swinging his blade viciously between the boy's shoulders.

Alyra pulled Segomo to an immediate halt, still on the road and next to the two abandoned horses, clenching her teeth tight as she watched with sorrow as the young man cried out and collapsed onto the sand, blood spurting from his wound. Beyond him, a small boat with a hooded figure upon it was setting sail, guided by a glowing, floating light.

The Hunt warrior stopped at the water's edge, cursing. Caranthir caught up to her and stopped his horse next to hers. He said nothing, but she could feel the fury and disappointment he radiated as he stared after the retreating boat.

Still feeling bitter sadness at the slaughtering in the village, Alyra found she also felt a creeping dread settle in: now, she would have to face the king and his rage as it was directed at her. Her own failure. This had been her task, and she had not succeeded in bringing back the Child of the Elder Blood.

She feared what was to come.

(0)

I'll stop here because this chapter is getting pretty long! Sorry about any typos, I know there are probably a few but I'll post this without proofreading, unlike what I usually do, because its late and I'm working a 12 hour shift tomorrow and you might not get this chapter for days if I have to correct my errors.

Please review! I love your feedback!


	28. Zeroing in

NOTE: So very, very sorry for taking this much time, guys! I finished school, the semester had me beat and I immediately started working over 40 hours per week, so I legit had no time for anything… plus, I'm begun writing a book, so it is hard to split my time between here and there… however, I promised I would finish and I plan on delivering! I just want to take the necessary time to make sure I give you something of quality that you can enjoy. So no, I have not abandoned the story. Just give me time!

NightRowenTree you're welcome!

Smiling Seshat, sorry if the summary is unclear, when I say she's in a world that will never be her own, but I meant it mostly that she's human and Aen Seidhe and does not belong in Tir nà Lia. I hope it become clearer as the first chapter progresses. Thank you very much for all your tips, especially the ones about punctuation in spoken sentences. Like I said, English is my second language out of four and each one had a different way of portraying conversation in writing. French is an utter nightmare, without quotations to define what words are spoken and what words are descriptive. If I were to use that style for the way that I write, it would be quite a mess. This place is my practice ground, and I appreciate all criticism, as it helps me better myself. I'll try to apply it in future chapters and other texts I write.

SedaIlandereKaden thank you very kindly! I do consider posting elsewhere, but I've never really posted anywhere but here before… I think I have an account with Archive of Our Own. I'll look into that.

AnnaPlotnkova, thank you for reading and reviewing! I understand you were not a fan of O'Dimm, but personally I found him more scary than other villains simply because he's always there… lurking in the background, pulling strings and unafraid to be horribly, horribly cruel and unjust to get what he wants. I promised I was going to finish this baby, and I will! Stay updated!

Kittypawswrites, yeah I'll agree Alyra is a bit overpowered at times and I do try and tone it down, while at the same time justifying why someone like Ciri and Geralt could take out the Hunt, in the end. Witchers are some serious stuff! And let's be honest… a main character that's not a bit OP and ass-kicking would be a bit boring… we're not following the village maiden, we're following some interesting! Hope you keep reading.

Kateskates, it wasn't too bad, was it?

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"Avallac'h has taken her away, we know not where." Caranthir's voice was placid, emotionless and reflected very poorly how Alyra felt at this moment. "She has become entirely impossible to track, my king. What would you have us do?"

Eredin glanced up at them from his seated position at one end of the immense hardwood table that filled the room where they were meeting. Alyra felt her heart flutter in panic at that gaze, but tried her best to remain as devoid of emotion as the Navigator. She could see the bitter fury that welled in those glacier eyes…

"Keep watch." Eredin's voice was as grating as ever, but it seemed a thousand times cooler. She could tell his anger was barely contained. "At the first sign of her, we move. This time… this time we will not fail." Those eyes fell right on her and she felt her heart stop. "Everyone out. Leave." Caranthir and Imlerith turned to go, but when she did as well, a cool smirk appeared on the king's face. "Not you, girl."

Alyra froze in place and listened to the footsteps of the other two generals as they walked from the room and the heavy door shut behind them with a resounding bang. She supported the king's gaze, but only because she was far too proud to admit she was afraid.

He gestured for her to come closer. Alyra moved, feeling as though she had to walk a thousand miles on legs that weighted a thousand stone.

When she came close enough to stand right next to the heavy oaken chair that Eredin was seated in, he stood slowly. She found he towered over her more than ever. His hand was ice-cold as it reached for her face and caressed her cheek with a gentleness that was both soothing and terrifying. Alyra kept her eyes up, watching him carefully, and betraying nothing of how she felt.

"You haven't come to see me in some time. Been busy elsewhere?"

She resisted the urge to swallow, her throat tight. Suddenly, she understood what was at play.

"You were quite busy seeking Zireael, my king… I did not think it a good time to disturb you."

He smirked coolly, grasping her by the hips and pivoting her so that she felt the big wooden table suddenly press against the back of her legs.

"Or did you simply not want to see your king anymore…?"

He pushed her up on the table and she let him, feeling the raw, hungry urge that boiled within him. Alyra remembered what Ge'els had told her, about being _very_ careful about how she treated her new freedom, lest it offends Eredin and he find a way to be rid of her. As such, she grasped at his arms, accepting him as he pulled her close.

"I would not dream of such a thing…" She assured.

"Is that so?"

Eredin's kiss was hard and cold, his fingers unyielding as they grasped the back of her head, lacing into her hair and pulling at it almost painfully. Her hands found his pants and hammered the point home as she deftly undid his breached and found his hardening manhood, wrapping a hand around it with familiarity. His own hands were less patient, yanking at her pants harshly as he nearly ripped them off her and Alyra found herself helping him, in hopes of avoiding the destruction of her armor.

Rapidly, she wiggled out of her pants and watched the king as he tossed them aside without concern, hiking her back up on the table. He seized her by the hips roughly and before she could utter a protest, he sheathed his entire manhood into her. Alyra cried out, grasping at his shoulders as the sudden intrusion took her breath away, both in pain and in pleasure. Eredin did not wait for the ache to subside, pounding into her with fury and passion as she howled, pushing at his chest as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Part of her wanted to shove him away, but another part of her wanted to grab on harder and push her hips against his motions…

Alyra found herself comparing, with astounding clarity, at how Eredin was incredibly different from Ge'els… where the former was raw and perilous, the latter was gentle and calculating… and both made her crave for more of their touch…

Her pleasure peaked as the king took her like an animal on the table and she found herself pulling back her head, barely containing the long growl of desire that was seeping from her throat as she came, the waves of warmth rushing through her body just as the king grasped at her hips and spilled his seed into her with a groan.

She descended back into the room, panting.

Eredin did not release her at once… instead, he lowered himself over her and she found her gaze filled with his, ice-cold and menacing.

"Fail me again, Summer Wolf, and I will give you to the hounds."

With those words, he pushed away from her, lacing up his breaches as he went, leaving her alone in the room to gather her own clothes and get dressed, before leaving with a distinct feeling of dread and hate mixing deep within her.

(0)

In the days and weeks to follow, Eredin was extremely busy, never calling on her. Alyra returned to training with her soldiers, slightly worried by her failure to catch Cirilla and wondering what would become of this whole mess now. She distanced herself a bit from Ge'els, unsure how to juggle her double involvement with the viceroy and the king. Faithful to his habits, Nathiel kept her updated on the inner workings of the generals and how the search was going. It was through him that she learned they had managed to track down the sorceress Yennefer, harassing her to the point she had no choice but to call upon Geralt of Rivia to aid her in stopping the Hunt.

Now that the Cirilla's two most beloved individuals were in danger, Eredin was sure she'd resurge somewhere… it was a matter of time…

Alyra sent Edrick and three of her swiftest riders to Eredin when he requested them, needing their assistance in capturing the White Wolf, who they'd tracked down to a small village known as White Orchard. When Edrick returned, it was with a miserable expression: not only had they failed, but one of their fighters had perished when the sorceress blew up a wooden bridge beneath his steed's hooves. He'd brought back the body and they build yet another pyre to send off their fellow fighter.

Soon after, a solid lead appeared. Caranthir had found the coordinates of the laboratory belonging to the Aen Saevherne that travelled with Ciri, and he set out along with Nithral, a few hounds and warriors to explore the place and find a lead to Cirilla. They search was fruitless, and they stumbled upon Geralt of Rivia and a sorceress in that place, who had somehow also been led to the laboratory. Caranthir let Nithral fight the pair, thinking they'd be no match for the axe-wielding brute of a general, but Nithral was slain and the two escaped unscathed, continuing their search for the girl.

Eredin was furious. His anger was such that the very air within the city seemed electrified. Alyra had been given five new, young recruits to train as replacement for the two she'd lost, and she used them as an excuse to validate needing to ride off for a few days and teach them tracking in the wilderness. They did not return until a week later, when she was sure the king's rage had blown over and she was safe again.

Alyra didn't exactly hate her relationship with the king… his dangerous touch did awaken a hungry sort of excitement within her, but she knew that every moth attracted to a flame eventually becomes burned. So, she remained at a safe distance, preferring the gentler, calmer touch of Ge'els. She was more careful in meeting him now, making sure to leave the camp anonymously and to remain unseen all the way to the palace of Awakening… something within her warned her that if this affaire went public, it would end with blood spilt… possibly her blood…

It was through him that she learned of Eredin's mobilisation of the Aen Elle fleet.

"He's doing what?" She asked curiously, propping herself up on her elbows as she lay amidst the silken sheets of the viceroy's bed. He'd risen to stoke the flames in the fireplace, wearing nothing at all, the flickering lights dancing over the taunt, pale skin that covered his strong body.

"He's ordered the Naglfar prepared for sailing. As well as three of her sister ships."

She frowned as she watched him come back, sitting down on the bed lightly, next to her. Ge'els reached out his hand and stroked along the outside of her thigh slowly, raising goose bumps over her flesh. Alyra paid him almost no heed.

"So he thinks he needs the ships to reach her?"

Ge'els nodded slowly, his hawk-like eyes gliding over her naked form. "Twice now she showed up near Ard Skellig. Sources do say that Avallac'h had a laboratory somewhere there… and since he sailed her away last time she was there, we can assume the ships will be needed to reach her." He sighed, drawing circles around the round scar on her belly with long, light fingers. "Now if only we could find her…"

After that night, she had a distinct feeling that the end of this whole mess was approaching.

She was not wrong.

Her amulet glowed anew while she was mid-swing in a sparring session with Edrick. She stumbled, startled and almost got smacked on the nose with the dull long swords they were using, barely managing to pivot out of the warrior's range at the last possible moment.

She raised her hand and cried out wordlessly, calling a halt to the combat.

Edrick froze mid-swing and when he saw her grasp the amulet, he lowered his sword and nodded severely. They'd spoken about this before: he had command every time she was summoned elsewhere, so he knew what was to be done. She heard Caranthir's glacial voice resonate within her head.

 _Bring a dozen warriors._

She gestured at Ghevir, who was standing nearby, looking most serious.

"I need twelve of you." She cried out to her assembled fighters, all of whom had been watching the sparring session with great interest, keen to copy her movements. "Groups 3 and 4, with me. The rest, I leave you with Edrick." Without another word, she pressed the gem in the centre of her amulet.

Like all the previous times, she was armored up as she was magically transported. However, this time she did not appear before Segomo, finding herself suddenly standing on the moist, slippery deck of a swaying ship, Ghevir and her twelve fighters appearing beside her. The unexpected change of ground made her stumble, but she caught her balance as she took in her surroundings. It took her a moment to understand they were standing upon the Naglfar, sailing out of the bay that bordered the city. Caranthir stood with the king behind the ship's wheel as sailors around them ran and shouted, preparing the sails, raising the anchor and pulling in the ropes.

"Go below." She ordered her men, making her way alone up to Eredin and the mage. Caranthir was looking straight ahead, paying her no heed.

As they sailed out from the bay, the Navigator raised his staff high, the glowing orb of frost lifting up a freezing gale as they went. She heard him chant words in that terrible, grating voice of his, and suddenly, fog enveloped the ship. Alyra kept the change around them, even if he did not see it: the air smelled different all of a sudden, and the temperature dropped, not just from the mage's staff. Caranthir had transported them… she had to admit it was an impressive feat: it was one thing to open a portal and harry through a few soldiers and another entirely to move an entire ship, crew and all, across dimensions…

"This is not her world…" She heard Caranthir grumble as she peered through the fog around them, searching for…

"Shore!" One of the elven sailors called, pointing to their right. She followed his motion and saw that indeed, they were passing a mass of land. As she squinted, she thought she saw people on it, but it was hard to tell with the fog that kept rolling in and out, clouding her sight.

There was a sudden, bright flash of green on land, just where she'd thought she'd seen someone standing. Now, there was clearly no one…

"Zireael…" Eredin growled. "Where has she gone?" He snapped at his mage.

Caranthir seemed to bend his head in focus, his staff growing bright as he murmured words to a spell. There was a long moment of oppressive silence as he searched, searched…

"She's gone to the Witcher keep. Kaer Morhen."

Eredin nodded. "Bring us back. This time, we take the fight to them. This time, she won't escape…"

(0)

Tir nà Lia was in pandemonium. The generals assembled their lieutenants, howled orders as soldiers ran to and fro, armoring up, while steeds were pulled from the stables and fields, roaring in the excitement, feeling that something was about to happen. For once, the citizens stepped into their homes, knowing that this was not a smart time to wander the streets, as warriors stampeded about, their razor-sharp weapons drawn and screaming battle cries.

In the chaos, Alyra pulled away from her squadron to join the king and his generals in the meeting room of the king's palace. As she entered the dark room, she noticed that Ge'els had joined them as well, standing near the king. The viceroy gave her no more recognition than he would have another general and she was glad of it. She walked to the huge wooden table, glancing down at the blueprints and maps she saw there.

She recognized the layout of Kaer Morhen almost at once, having been there with Lambert quite some time ago. Seeing it here, on this table in a world a million miles away gave her a strange, hollow feeling, as though the life she'd previously led also lay a million lifetimes away.

"These plans are dated, we do not know how much the keep has changed since that time, my king…" Ge'els offered.

"Our spies mentioned there had been an assault on the castle some time ago, which damaged the structure severely… there being very few Witcher left in the keep, they were most probably unable to patch everything up." Caranthir mentioned, staring at the plans with a furrowed brow.

Alyra looked at Eredin and saw that his gaze was trained on her, foxed and calculating.

"You've lain with a Witcher from the School of the Wolf." He stated with a voice like ice. "Have you ever been to their keep?"

She'd almost forgotten they knew about Lambert… Alyra sighed, and nodded, knowing she could not lie or escape this. Unless she wanted to betray the Hunt that is…

Knowing what was expected of her, she came closer and observed the plans, running a hand over those that showed an approximate layout of the castle's exterior. She paused her finger on the front gate, which she knew to be divided by a moat and protected by two heavy, wrought-iron gates.

"There is a single way into the keep, which is through the front entrance. If they shut those two gates, getting in will be hard, if not impossible…"

Imlerith interrupted her with a sneer. "Metal cannot withstand blow indefinitely."

She glared at him. "Neither can you hit a gate for ever if you're being shot at from protected crenellations, which overlook the entire length of the only path into the keep." There was a tense moment during which she only wanted to growl at him. They stared at each other hard and did not drop their eyes until Eredin made an annoyed sound, forcing them both to blink and look away with fury. "Regardless." Alyra continued, running her finger along the walls. "The attack you speak of has breached the wall here, giving us a wide opening into the keep. They might have repaired it, but I doubt it: the damage was extensive last time I went, and as you said, they do not have sufficient men to mend the walls."

"We could just open portals directly into the keep…" Caranthir proposed slowly.

Alyra shook her head. "You can be sure they'll have at least one sorceress, if not several, protecting the castle. And we don't know how many more Witchers they've gathered since they've learned the Hunt is on Cirilla's heels. No… if they've retreated to Kaer Morhen, it is because they are prepared for us, and ready to fight…"

"What are a few Witchers to the likes of our army?" Imlerith scoffed anew.

She slammed her hands on the table, hard.

"Have I not shown you enough what Witchers are to the likes of _your_ army?" Eredin was looking at her with an expression that hid amusement and Imlerith was literally grinding his teeth. She continued, before he had the time to find a rebuke. "The worst thing we can do is underestimate them. They'll have gathered all the allies they can find to protect the girl. And Kaer Morhen, no matter its damage state, remains a solid, defendable keep. They can pull back into the castle and we can even face a siege. Chose to do as you will: I do not have the experience to guide anyone into war, but don't think you will find easy prey there."

There was a certain amount of pride in her voice when she said those words, but thankfully no one seemed to notice. As she spoke, Alyra came to realise how much her heart ached at the thought of these people she was preparing to go fight, at how she still considered them her friends and allies far more than she ever would the Hunt…

At that moment she understood: no matter how used she got to this life, how she adapted to her environment and made the best of it, her heart would always lie with her world. With her mother. And Letho. And even Lambert, prick that he was. Alyra's body would belong to the king, and Ge'els and the Hunt… but her heart would always remain her own…

Eredin nodded. "Very well. We shall transport our soldiers into the forests around the keep, preferably under the cover of trees to hide our numbers. Imlerith will lead the charge to the front gates of the castle. Caranthir, once everyone has passed the portals, you will focus all your energy on taking out any magical protection and assistance the Witcher has." Both generals bowed their heads in approval. Eredin's glacier eyes turned to her. "As for you… you will lead your squadron through the broken wall and take them by surprise once the fighting has begun. Any questions?"

They shook their heads.

"Good. We attack on the morrow."

(0)

A bit shorter than what I would have wanted, but the next chapter is going to be intense, so, as always, bear with me!


	29. The battle of Kaer Morhen

Long delay, I know. I've hit some rough times. I lost one of my dogs to cancer and it just… sapped the life out of me. Didn't feel much like writing. I'm back and true to my promise, I will see this story through.

NightRowenTree, my pleasure!

Kateskates, you'll see!

Kittypawswrites, you'll see!

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Alyra did not know what to except when she rose the next morning, after a long night of twisting and turning, worried about the future. She'd seen wars, yes… but they had been human wars… they had been wars against disorganised, rogue elves and bandits. She had never ridden amongst soldiers and, even though she had just spent over a year amidst them, she still did not know what to expect…

She was left speechless at the ordered, military precision with which the Aen Elle legion could mobilize.

The camp was abuzz with motion and speech, but there was no screaming, or chaos in the movement around her, as she rounded up her own squadron. Alyra admired the passage of several regiments of fully armored elven warriors, who walked with ground-shaking steps, bearing shields, swords, maces and lances. Her own fighters had donned their light, leather and chainmail armor, their steps light and quiet, so unlike those of the rest of the warriors.

With utmost precision, everyone fell in formation outside the camp, where Eredin, Imlerith and Caranthir awaited them, mounted and armored. Alyra left her soldiers at the back, knowing their charge would be one of the last to leave and found her place next to the other generals, sending a glance at Nathiel, who sat atop a horse nearby, visibly ill at ease in this context.

Caranthir raised his iced staff high and slammed it into the ground. A portal opened with a growl next to him and Imlerith spurred his horse forward, raising his immense mace high above his head.

"Dearg ruadhri with me!" He roared, a sound that seemed to shake the very air around them all, and all the armored warriors answered with intense fury, raising their weapons high, slamming spears into the ground, hammering swords onto shields. They followed him as he plunged into the swirl of the portal, vanishing from this world.

A whole squadron managed to push through before the portal abruptly closed, obviously shut from the other side. Alyra nodded slowly, knowing that the Witchers and their allies had indeed been expecting them, as she had supposed the night before. They had prepared for the assault, arming themselves with methods to shut the passages that spewed Wild Hunt soldiers to Kaer Morhen.

Caranthir swore, conjuring another portal as quickly as he could, which allowed a few more soldiers through before being forcibly shut as well. Nathiel came forward and assisted with opening more portals, working much slower than Caranthir, but managing to allow more fighters through, Eredin amongst them.

"Go with them. The sorceress has put up defences that prevent us from entering directly from here. Portal soldiers into the keep from over there." Caranthir ordered Nathiel dryly, conjuring another gateway. The human mage nodded and rode through without glancing back, gone with another few dozen fighters and hounds.

At last, it was her turn. Twenty fighters from her squadron, including Edrick and Ghevir, marched forward to meet her as she dismounted from her steed and turned to face the portal Caranthir had just opened before her. She understood he would be the last to go through, right after her, accompanied by a few of his own combatants.

Alyra charged through the gateway in silence, both her swords bared.

(0)

They appeared amidst pine trees, under a cloudy sky, their breaths steaming before them in the frosty air. It took Alyra a moment to gather her bearings and asses their environment: they seemed to be on the northern side of the keep, in the dense forest that bordered its walls, just a few feet away from said walls. This was where she'd told the generals the breech was located, but as she looked left and right, she found nothing but tall, stone structures that seemed uninterrupted.

Almost as if he read her mind, Edrick walked forth and placed a hand on the thick wall, looking at it carefully.

"This was recently fixed." He realised as he noted the fresher stones and hardening adhesive that had been used to keep it all in place. She nodded gravely, hearing the muffled sound of a fight coming from within the keep. Alyra was unable to say who might be winning at this time, but judging from the harsh clang of metal, the whistling of fireballs falling from the sky and the dying howls of hounds, she figured that the Witchers were not doing so bad…

She turned to her warriors, all of which were patiently awaiting her command.

"We can't go through here, so we'll flank the walls towards the west, until we reach the front gates. Hopefully, someone has smashed through them already…"

They moved out, remaining under the cover of trees; they were meant to be a surprise attack, after all. Fire rained around them, but they were lucky: the meteors sailed well past their sneaking squadron.

Within a few moments, Alyra heard the long, heavy howl of a war horn, but did not know what it could mean. The sound was cold and mournful, so she suspected it belonged to the Hunt… they pushed through the thicket as fast as they could, rounding the moat that barred the way into the keep, before scrambling up to the front gate, carefully observing the crenellations that rose along the entire length of the road to it: no arrow or magic shot out towards them as they appeared, so she understood they were not manned at this time. As she had assumed, the front gate had been smashed to bits, as had the second gate beyond… Alyra suspected she knew the brute responsible for this damage. Few warriors remained within the first courtyard, but she noticed that a great many deal of them now lay strewn across the ground, either dead or dying. As she charged across the yard, stepping over corpses and keeping her eyes sharp for traps or enemies, she could not help but feel a strange sensation: she remembered the last time she'd come here with Lambert, and the month they'd spent training and bantering between these very walls… it contrasted harshly with her vision of the place now, all in shambles and covered in flames.

Alyra cleared her head, maintain her fast pace, trying not find herself praying that none of the corpses she stepped over would belong to Lambert or Letho…

The second courtyard was barred by a heap of stone and wood. Alyra charged up a mighty Aard as she folded her fingers into the sign, howling as the energy drained form her body and sent the rubble flying out of their way. Edrick had to momentarily support her as she wavered on her feet, feeling light-headed after the sudden effort. Her fighters waited with her as she steadied her feet, before following her onward.

They passed Nathiel as he conjured portals to push the warriors further into the keep, his horse long lost in the fray.

Alyra looked towards the steps that led into the final, inner courtyard and saw Caranthir there, just as he released an overpowering burst of frost energy at the sealed gate which protected the Witchers, sending it flying open with a bang. At the same time, the bubble of magic energy that was shielding the keep seemed to flicker and vanish as whomever was casting it obviously ran out of strength to do so.

Her throat tight, her stomach in knots, Alyra rushed up the steps after Eredin, Imlerith and Caranthir, hoping against hope that she would not find those she cared about dead beyond…

Just beyond the gates, they passed a frozen figure that she recognized as the famous White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia himself. He stood there, oblivious and covered in frost and she made no attempt to harm him as she rushed past. Her soldiers did not touch him either: she'd given them strict orders to kill no one, only put them out of commission temporarily. Thankfully, no one had questioned her choices… she felt that if she'd had to explain why she didn't want the Witchers and their friends butchered, she would immediately be betraying the Hunt.

The king and his generals stood ahead in the courtyard. Alyra let her eyes wander over the soldiers of the Wild Hunt, brow furrowed as she searched for the others… up on a ledge, she saw one of the Wolf School Witchers, frozen in place with his hands held up as if to shield himself from the terrible magic of Caranthir's staff. She recognized him from the time she'd been here… what was his name? Erkel? Eskel? She could not seem to remember…

Alyra's breath caught in her throat as she spotted the figure that stood just beyond the first Witcher, long sword held firmly at his side, gaze turned with fury at the courtyard's door, frozen like the rest of the Hunt's enemies… it was hard not to recognize the massive man that was Letho of Gulet.

She was infinitely thankful that he could not move, or see her… what would he have done if he had recognized her? Would he have felt betrayed, spotting her as an enemy, before charging her down to kill her? Would he have understood, from what he knew of her, that she would have never agreed to join the Wild Hunt of her own, free will?

Alyra gathered her bearings, pretending she did not know any of those in the courtyard, knowing that if the king or his generals noticed her emotions, they would make sure the Witchers died.

She let her gaze glide over another figure, frozen in ice… she recognized Lambert without a doubt, standing next to a woman. She was clearly a sorceress, her extended hands still glowing faintly from the light of the spell she'd been casting as the Hunt broke through their last defences.

Alyra moved towards the king, who now stood near a young woman with ashen hair… she recognized Cirilla at once. Imlerith was holding another Witcher, this one unfrozen, up against a wall with a single hand. Alyra realized she knew him as well: it was the kind, old mentor of the School of the Wolf, who had trained Geralt, Lambert and the other Witcher here. His name Vesemir… he had always been kind to her during the time she'd stayed here, and had even taught her a thing or two about how to fight certain beasts more efficiently.

Suddenly, she wished the others were not encased in ice… she knew they would have understood her ploy, and perhaps she would have been able to get a message through to them, asking for their help in saving her mother from the curse that bound them both.

But it was too little, too late for that now… Alyra watched as the girl Cirilla dropped the sword she had held, and hung her head low as she stepped towards the king's extended hand, whose face was alight with a victorious glare. Alyra found she couldn't blame the girl… she had done the same thing when her back was against a wall and the Hunt made her chose between those she loved and herself… Cirilla cared too deeply for these people to let them die for her.

Vesemir called out to her, but she ignored him, stepping ever closer to the king. Alyra's unblooded soldiers stood behind her, watching the scene carefully, ready for anything. Someone stepped right up to her and she glanced sideways, recognizing Nathiel.

Then, everything went to Hell in a bottle.

The Witcher Vesemir, not about to give in and die without a fight for the child he loved so dearly, unsheathed a blade and plunged it into Imlerith's flank. The general howled in pain and rage, and as much as it caused Alyra immense pleasure to hear the great brute screaming, she had no doubt as to what would happen next. She shut her jaw tightly and muffled her cry of despair as she saw Imlerith twist the Witcher's throat with such force that his neck snapped audibly and he fell limply within the mailed grasp.

Her eyes closed painfully, but opened almost at once and she found Cirilla, who staggered sideways, shocked into silence by what she had just seen. Alyra's hard gaze found Eredin, who was moving towards the girl, coaxing her without a single thought for the being that she had loved and watched die by Imlerith's hand… she found hatred grow in her belly at the carelessness with which he acted, having just murdered one of the Elder Blood's closest friends, oblivious to the hurricane of dangerous power he had just prodded…

Alyra knew what was going to happen long before it did. She turned to Nathiel and grasped his arm harshly, forcing him to look at her and snap out of his surprise.

"Get us back. Now."

Her voice was so hard and quick that he nodded at once, regaining his composure. Behind her, she heard a woman's scream, which rose with the shrillness of pure agony, before slowly morphing into something more powerful, more deadly… she felt a strange sort of power fill the air around them, and knew at once that they had but mere moments to act.

Nathiel focused as he had never focused in his life, brown furrowed as he ignored everything around him, steading the magic in his hands as he mouthed words to a spell that would conjure a portal.

Not a moment too soon.

A hungry sort of gale rose around them just as the portal opened with a growl. She leapt through without thought, dragging a drained Nathiel along. Edrick and Ghevir followed without question, every fighter of her squadron knowing that she had predicted the danger that was about to unfold around them with excellent timing.

Just as they passed the portal and it closed behind them, a furious gust of power swept the courtyard, vaporising those that could not defend themselves, originating from the child of the Elder Blood, who knelt amidst the litter of corpses around her, arms spread wide as an unfathomable sort of power coursed through her, blanching her eyes and decimating anything it touched.

Eredin would have pushed to her, possibly killing himself in the process, were it not for Caranthir who pulled him back and threw both of them into a rapidly conjured portal.

(0)

Back in Tir nà Lia, it took a while to assess the damage they'd sustained. The only squadron that hadn't lost almost all of its soldiers was Alyra's, as they had been re-routed along the keep when they met with a solid wall instead of a breech. They'd arrived late to the fight, and it had saved them. The others were not so lucky: the combined strength of several Witchers, mages and sorceresses had cleaved through the Wild Hunt like a sharp axe through young trees, and the number of dead soldiers was far greater than the number of survivors. Eredin had sustained severe damage as he tried to brave the storm of chaotic energy that Cirilla had conjured and Imlerith was bleeding profusely from the dagger wound he'd taken from Vesemir. Both had to be rushed to the infirmary.

This left only her, Caranthir and Ge'els to discuss their next move, and none of them seemed ready to put forward any sort of idea. The Witchers had been few, but had decimated them. Cirilla had been alone, but the death of Vesemir had unleashed from within her the full extent of her dormant power. They'd tried for surprise attack and had failed. Terribly.

"Meeting them head-on would be suicide." Caranthir stated, pacing in the command room.

"No." Ge'els replied, his gaze lost. "What was suicide was going in for an assault on a strongly fortified position. It's nothing new that those who bunker down and fortify their keep can outlast and out kill most attackers. We should have drawn them out, pulled them away from Kaer Morhen…"

"They would have never left. Not with the girl under threat."

"We could have sieged them. Starved them out. They were surely not prepared to hold that position for more than a few weeks. I told Eredin as much…"

"He wanted the girl at once."

"A rash decision that cost him a large part of his fighting force." Ge'els snapped. It was the first time Alyra saw him lose his temper, and to Caranthir nonetheless.

The mage was livid.

A crushing silence filled the room and Alyra barely breathed from fear of attracting attention to herself. Both Aen Elle seemed to size each other up, their hard gazes shooting daggers at the other, neither ready to step down and admit they were wrong.

In the end, it was Ge'els that broke the heavy silence.

"Regardless." He swept his white hair over his shoulders. "We need a new strategy, some new way of tracking them down and attacking them. With a greater force and more magic support. They'll protect the girl with all they have, but they cannot hide for ever. All we have to do is find them."

"That won't be necessary." Alyra said softly and both elves' gazes snapped to her as they suddenly remembered she was in the room with them. She shrugged. "After what Imlerith has done to that Witcher… you can be sure they'll be the ones coming for us."

Her words sounded much more ominous that she thought they would be and as she glanced across the room and into the large mirror that hung over the fireplace there, Alyra could have sworn she saw a certain merchant of mirrors grinning at her enigmatically from the dark depths of the room's reflection.

(0)

Here we go for now! I know most of this was a re-tell from the scene in the games, albeit from a different point of view, but I hope you enjoyed it as well.

NOTE: to my readers that were hoping for a bigger confrontation between Alyra and the Witchers, I hope you're not too disappointed. I wanted to stay as true as possible to the actual game, as if you could play through it anew and imagine her in the background somewhere. Of course, that goes only if you make the pre-battle choice of fixing the wall instead of arming everyone with better blades. You may have noticed, but I'm too much of a goodie two-shoes to have not saved and recruited everyone during my actual gameplay, so this reflected in the story as well! So, I suppose: hurray, everyone is safe! For now…

Please review!


	30. Calm before the storm

NightRowenTree, I get you, I had grown very attached to Vesemir and it brought tears to my eyes to see him get killed like that…

Anon, thank you for letting me know. It took a while, but here we are!

Guest, thank you for your kind words. I hope you'll enjoy the fact that I motivated myself to return to this story!

(0)

"It's been real quiet, these last few days…" Alyra said gently, breaking the sweet silence that had wafted into the bedroom. Ge'els turned away from the fireplace, into which he'd been gazing pensively, the flickering flames drawing intricate shadows over his naked form. Say what you will of the viceroy, he was not unpleasant to look upon, as the young woman had quickly discovered. His yellow gaze found hers and a discreet smile seemed to pull at the corner of his lips as he soundlessly returned to the bed, where she rested amidst satin sheets.

"Under any other circumstance, I would have welcome the quiet…" He murmured as he found a spot next to her and drew her against him with surprisingly strong arms, planting a feather-like kiss upon her lips. The wanton desire had faded from his touch, replaced by something almost kind. Alyra let herself enjoy it: there was too much unkindness in this world already.

"The king has healed from his wounds?" She asked with a voice she wanted simply curious. After what she had seen Eredin to do Vesemir, she was not sure how much she wanted the ruler to survive his encounter with the Elder Blood…

"His ego was wounded more than his body. However, he did expose himself to a great deal of powerful, deadly magic when he tried to approach Zireael… it is still to early to say what sort of effect that could on have on him…"

Alyra made a non-committal noise that was up for interpretation. Ge'els started to absently run his fingers along the scar that barred her cheek, neck and shoulder, a gesture he had begun doing more often than not, rarely appearing to realize he was doing it at all. She closed her eyes and sighed lightly, enjoying the featherlike touch of his trimmed nails along her skin.

There was a rapt, sudden knock on the door and their moment of peace was shattered. Ge'els rose at once, tall and graceful as ever, striding to the door without even bothering to cover himself. Alyra gathered the satin sheets to her bare form and stared curiously after him, wondering who could possibly come calling at this very late hour.

Ge'els opened the door just a crack and spoke with an urgent, agitated voice beyond. Alyra failed to catch any exchanged words, but it proved inconsequential: as the person beyond mumbled apologies and bid the viceroy good night, he shut the door and instantly turned to her, his gaze suddenly very complex and hard to read.

"Get dressed, Alyra." His voice was still soft, but bore a strange undertone. "It is best you return to your home. It seems we have a situation."

She rose, concerned, but he did not even give her the time to voice a question that he was answering it.

"It appears that Imlerith has been killed." It was hard to tell how Ge'els felt about that fact. "He was slain at the Crones' Sabbath by the Witcher Gwynbleidd. Zireael defeated two of the three Crones and they have since left the area… and to think that I _did_ warn him not to go…"

Alyra's throat was suddenly very, very tight. She struggled to find her breath as she clumsily grabbed her light clothes and struggled into her dark, hooded cape. For just a brief moment, she glanced into the only mirror in the room, a grand, antique thing that hung over the fireplace's mantle, and within its flickering reflection she could have sworn she saw a very familiar Master of Mirrors smiling knowingly as he slipped back into the shadows…

It did nothing to aid her unease.

(0)

The following day was filled with a panicked sort of turmoil. Alyra pretended to be shocked when the news of Imlerith's demise finally reached her camp, pretending deftly that it was the first time she was hearing such news. Ghevir and Edrick were quick to glance at her, knowing intimately how much she hated the general because of what he had done to her. She could not publicly denounce him or go against anything that had happened, but both of her close soldiers guessed correctly that she was more than glad to see the general dead.

Glad, and yet somehow afraid… for over a year she had lived with the looming promise of Gaunter's words, by which he had sworn she would be freed of the generals and returned home… it had been so long that she had almost begun to doubt it was ever going to happen. But now, it felt as though she was teetering on the edge of a great precipice, suddenly terrified of what lay below. Imlerith was gone… Caranthir and the king remained, but was it so hard to imagine that they too could be slain by the Witcher and his kin?

Alyra went about her day as though nothing had changed. She drilled her squadron and also assisted another one, a rag-tag group that had been formed of what remained of three squadrons that had been mostly defeated, their lieutenants slain, at the battle of Kaer Morhen. The soldiers were heavy brutes, but she had gained enough of a reputation that no one went against her… she was unfamiliar with their training routines so she simply had them go through some endurance workouts and basic drills, knowing that some of the soldiers were still wounded or recovering from the battle. Few of them would admit to their pain, but she could see it clear as day in their unsure steps and weakened motions.

A couple days passed in such routine. Alyra did not hear from Ge'els or the king in that time and she dared not visit the viceroy for the time being, considering how amped the whole city was. Nighttime wandering was not a wise idea.

So, it was with great surprise that she found herself hearing a light, discreet knock at her front door one evening, as she was browsing absently through a book she hadn't even bothered to read the title of, seated comfortably in an armchair within her living room. The sound brought her out of a deep reverie with a jolt and she rose at once, cautiously approaching the door. Alyra opened it a crack and peaked out, very wary of the hooded figure she spotted a few feet beyond… the figure raised its head and she quickly recognized Ge'els as the light from behind her illuminated his sharp features.

"What…" She barely had the time to whisper that he was gently pushing past her and shushing her as he went, intent on remaining discreet.

Complete at a loss, she closed the door behind him and followed him into the living room wondering why on earth he had come all this way… every time they'd met, be it at his behest or hers, they had met in his manse, never at her home on the battlegrounds.

Ge'els turned to her once she entered the living room behind him and shut the door, still very confused.

"Is anyone else here?" He asked at once, his voice low but not betraying anything. When she shook her head slowly, he nodded. "Good. What I am about to tell you must never, under any circumstance, leave this room. Do you understand?"

Still lost and increasingly more nervous, the young woman nodded. "I understand."

Ge'els sighed. "Eredin murdered our previous king to take his place." As Alyra had never met the previous king, this information was of little use to her. It caused no shift in emotion, but she found she was unsurprised to learn that Eredin was capable of doing something of the sort. "This was shown to me earlier today… by the Witcher Geralt, a soothsayer and Avalla'ch, the Aen Elle mage travelling with Zireael."

He paused, allowing her time to process what she had just heard.

"You… you met with them?" It was a cautious question and Alyra understood that she was threading on very thin ice. "You went to them?"

Ge'els looked at her intensely. "No. They came to me. But what they showed me cannot be denied. Eredin does not have a place in our lead due to the treacherous act by which he became king." The viceroy sighed and looked around the room momentarily. When his gaze found her anew, it was all the more serious. "It is… in the Hunt's _best interest_ … that things change." His tone was heavy.

She understood the double meaning of those words… at least, she hoped she did. She knew she could not voice her thoughts aloud, but she prayed that whatever she was about to do, it would mean she was not betraying the Wild Hunt and putting her mother in danger.

Alyra swallowed the knot that had formed in her throat. "So what… what should be done… in the Hunt's best interest?"

Ge'els' yellow eyes bore into her with an intensity that was almost blinding. She did not waver and, after a short moment of silence, he nodded.

"In a short amount of time, the Witcher and his friends will use an artefact to summon Eredin and his forces to a location of their choosing for a confrontation. It is most likely a matter of days. Depending on the outcome of that confrontation, Eredin may or may not call upon reinforcements. Should he call upon reinforcements due to… substantial loss on his end, no one _here_ will answer the call."

His tone was so final and hard that she found nothing to say, save stare at him with her mouth slightly agape. Again, he allowed her a moment to process.

"And I… I would be a part…"

"You and your squadron will remain in Tir na Lia." He turned to leave quite suddenly. "Do you understand, Alyrethielle?" Ge'els added over his shoulder.

She nodded dumbly.

As he strode for the door, she found she could not let him leave without making sure…

"Ge'els, wait!"

He turned an inquisitive eye to her.

"My mother… I mean… the curse…"

The elf smiled almost kindly. "You continue to serve the Hunt, as is your duty. You betray not your king, for he is no king as per his acts. For the time being, you answer to me."

Alyra nodded slowly, only partially reassured, as Ge'els strode from the living room and out of the house like a ghost, gone into the night as though he had never even been there in the first place.

(0)

The next few days passed in almost surreal calmness. As much as Alyra trusted Ghevir and Edrick, she dared not share with them what she had learned from the viceroy, afraid someone would find out that they knew and they would be prosecuted for treason. She cut her squadron some slack, insisting that they take time off to do as they please, be it ride, fish or read during their spare time. She herself spent most of her days away on Segomo, almost as if being far from the city and the camp would spare her the worse of what was about to come, once it did…

There was no escaping the inevitable however and, on a warm and sunny day, as she swam naked through a pond far south of the camp, her stallion grazing nearby, the medallion around her neck grew hot in warning. At once, she stood in the calm, cool waters and pressed the center stone without more than a quick prayer to the Gods…

Her armor formed around her wet form, chilling her as she was transported through the world, all the way to the king's conference room.

She found herself standing on one side of the great wooden table there, facing Nathiel, with Ge'els standing at the end of the table, ever grave. The mage glanced at her with a grim expression, one that was hard to read.

"What news?" She asked softly, almost fearfully, training her sights on the viceroy, who seemed uncannily calm.

"Eredin has sailed on the Naglfar with Caranthir and two squadrons of his best remaining soldiers to answer the Witcher's call. Nathiel shall serve as our eyes, keeping us up to date on the development of things with Zireael and her allies." Ge'els stated. His tone was cold, detached. She knew that no matter the turn of events, he would lose nothing in this situation.

If the king perished to the Witcher, that would be that… Ge'els would get what he wished. If the king won, however… surely the viceroy would find some other way to give the unjust ruler his due.

Nathiel bowed his head, tapped the butt of his staff to the ground and conjured a small portal that took him to wherever the battle was being decided. As he left, he shot a worried glance at Alyra, who tried to appear confident in return.

"Does he know?" She asked as soon as the mage's portal closed behind him.

Ge'els nodded slowly. "He does. He does not agree, but he knows. He fears betraying the Hunt even more than you do. I had to change the tide for him, transfer his allegiance from Eredin to myself… but with the betrayal through which Eredin has claimed the throne… he is king no more. The Hunt is not his."

"Is it yours?"

He glanced at her. "For the time being."

"So… what now?"

The viceroy sighed, suddenly exhausted. Alyra was reminded that he was several hundred years old, at the very least.

"Now… we wait."

They did not have to wait long. Within perhaps the first half hour of her arrival into the conference room, Nathiel returned through a portal, giving them a slight jump as he appeared quite suddenly in the same spot he had earlier vacated.

"Caranthir is dead. Cirilla killed him." He announced. His voice bore no emotion, but Alyra knew him well enough to visibly note the weight that seemed to lift from his shoulders at those words… she herself found she was at a loss. All the cold, bitter fear she had held in her heart and soul because of the terrible mage seemed to waver and vanish into thin air. She felt freer than she had in the past year, but she knew that there was still a long road ahead before she could truly confirm that her wishes and dreams had turned to reality and she was free.

"And the king?" Ge'els asked calmly.

"I was not able to reach him, viceroy." Nathiel admitted. "The battle is very hectic. We are suffering heavy losses."

Ge'els nodded slowly. "With Caranthir dead, Eredin has no one to send back with a message if he needs assistance. Go, Nathiel. Try and find him, but do not interfere. Report if there is any news."

In the way it was worded, no betrayal could have been discerned.

Alyra stood stiffly by the table. Since she'd entered the room, she had actively avoided looking into the large mirror that lurked in the shadows of a wall, but it seemed to be drawing her eye like something unnatural. She chanced a glance at it and found her heart freezing in fear… in fear, but not in surprise, as she found herself staring at a smirking Gaunter O'Dimm.

She looked away quickly enough, trying to focus her attention on anything else. Strangely enough, Ge'els was looking into the mirror as well… his gaze seemed politely curious, but she dared not ask if he could see what she saw. She found she did not care.

She found she did not want to know.

Her hands had somehow set upon the hardwood table as she leaned onto it heavily, her nails digging into the material, betraying her stress. She could hear her heart in her ears. Could feel tension flowing in her very veins… what was going to happen? So many different things could happen…

She tried not to let her mind sweep her away into crazed theories and false hopes…

The hour that followed seemed to last all of eternity…

And suddenly, just like that, Nathiel was back.

Alyra pushed herself back off the table, her eyes wide and dilated with suppressed anxiousness, her teeth grinding together…

"Eredin…" Nathiel mumbled, visibly shaken and somewhat buffeted. "The king is dead…"

"Long live the king." Ge'els murmured ominously near her and she glanced at him, confused, lost, unsure…

"Eredin is dead. Killed by Geralt of Rivia." Nathiel repeated, louder this time. The end of his sentence came out a bit chocked and it was hard to tell if he was holding back sheer joy or bitter terror. Alyra let out a wild bark of laughter that startled her and she stepped away from the table, hands leaping up to her hair to grasp it, eyes glancing at Gaunter, who was still lurking… still smirking…

There was something about that smirk…

Her breath quickened…

Ge'els turned to Nathiel, still calm and composed, wasting not a moment.

"Nathiel of Darwen, I name you Navigator and General. You shall command all Aen Saevherne of the Wild Hunt, as Caranthir did." The mage froze slightly, completely at a loss for words. He tried to mumble thank you, but Ge'els did not give him a chance, turning to Alyra. "Alyrethielle Eatebleidd, I name you General of the Wild Hunt. You shall command all the armies at the Hunt's disposal and oversee their training. Until such a time as a new king is chosen, I, Ge'els, viceroy of Tir na Lia, shall rule in his stead."

The wind had gone out of Alyra's lungs. She felt the world shift beneath her feet, felt herself at long last falling into the gaping precipice she'd been standing upon for a year… the truth and consequence of what she had just heard began to slowly sink into her paralyzed mind as horror filled her, despair flooded her, incomprehension…

"But…" She mumbled. "But I thought…"

Ge'els raised an eyebrow at her, watching her struggle to regain her breath as panic threatened her, but suddenly he froze.

Alyra glanced at Nathiel and saw that he too stood stock-still, curious eyes trained upon her.

She closed her eyes, let out a shuddering breath and turned her gaze to the mirror.

Gaunter O'Dimm stood within the room, as though he had just emerged from the smooth texture of the looking glass, the clever little smirk still playing with his lips. His eyes were changed, however: there was nothing human about them, only an avid, dangerous sort of darkness that promised pain and misery…

"You said…" The elven woman began with a pleading tone, but she knew very well that it was no use: nothing she could say would change what had happened, what she had willingly walked into.

"You got what you asked for." The Mirror demon answered in a voice as cold as ice. " _Exactly_ what you asked for. Eredin and his two generals are dead; you are free of them. You have been promoted and, as such, will be able to travel to various worlds, including your own. You'll get to go back home."

Alyra shut her eyes and felt tears run down her cheeks. "Not like this…"

Her words were but a whisper. She wanted to scream, to storm and bellow until her fate was changed, but somehow she knew… she knew this was all her fault. She never should have trusted Gaunter… she never should have struck a deal with him… she should have found her own way out of this mess… Gods, what had she done to herself?

Alyra felt the weight of a thousand worlds settle comfortably over her shoulders.

 _What had she done?_

"You trusted me." Gaunter shrugged and she turned an angry eye upon him. Despair was slowly giving place to fury. "You're right in that regard: you never should have struck a deal with me. Luckily for you, I made an exception in your case, because your assistance invariably allowed the Child of the Elder Blood to reach the White Frost and for that you get to keep your soul. Not many can say they have had such a chance. As for Cirilla, she is headed to her destiny now, in part thanks to you."

Alyra grumbled. "Will she… will she succeed, at least? Will she stop the end of times?"

The demon shrugged anew. "That path is beyond my control. It belongs to the Witcher Geralt and the Sorceress that Cirilla calls her mother. Their support, or lack thereof, are what determines the future. So we shall see."

Alyra's legs were weak, her knees were shaking. She had to grab onto a nearby chair for support, panic still squeezing the air out of her lungs… she had no idea what to say, no idea where to start the harrowing chain of confused, angry thoughts running through her mind…

"Make the best of what you have, Summer Wolf." Gaunter said in a voice that was cold, but not unkind.

She bared her teeth at him and seethed, but said nothing. What was there to say? They both knew damn well that she'd been played, but Gaunter did not care and she could do nothing about it. They both knew that her wish had been granted, but in a twisted, poisonous sort of way…

What was there to do, but carry on and keep fighting?

"Until we meet again, Summer Wolf." Gaunter was retreating into the shadows, his form wavering and vanishing like an illusion as the darkness claimed him.

"I sure as fuck hope not…" She growled after a moment, as all that remained of the demon was a terrifying, floating grin of pearly teeth, which seemed suspended in midair. Then, that too was gone, and life returned quite suddenly into the silent room.

"Alyra?"

She turned her harried, weary eyes to Ge'els, who was now looking at her with polite curiosity.

She bowed her head stiffly. "I'm honored, viceroy." The words came out like a snarl, through gritted teeth. Ge'els nodded pleasantly and began speaking, but she heard not a word that he said.

Her gaze found the mirror across the room, which, for once, hid no lurking Master of Mirrors. Within it, she spotted her exhausted and wounded expression and quickly changed it to one of set, calculate determination.

She would do what she had to survive. This was not over… she was still alive, her mother was probably still alive and this was far from over. She would fight, fight as she had never fought before, but she would prevail… she was no quitter… she would not despair, she would not give up.

She would do what she had to survive.

(0)

Thank you a million times over for all of you following this adventure! I know this chapter is incredibly late and took for ever to reach you and for that I'm terribly sorry.

I lost inspiration for this story a year ago, but still knew where I wanted it to lead and how to get there… it was bothering me a great deal that I was potentially so close to the end and that I had just… given up on it.

I promised I would finish it, and here we are. I kept thinking about every scene and event still left to cover until I could think of them no more, and then I gave myself a good kick in the arse, sat down and wrote. I hope this chapter meets your expectations and gives closure to the story.

I had a sequel in the makings for this story, but for the time being I will turn my attention to my Avengers fic, Black Sparrow. We'll see where things go from there, okay?

In the meantime, review, let me know how this was and take care, all of you.


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